I.i 


Edward  W.  Staples. 


:zjr-- 


<^^^^*^^  ^^7^^^^^  ^^ 


EEY.  JOSEPH  HARRINGTON, 


OF    SAN    FRANCISCO,    CALIFORNIA. 


A    MEMOIR, 


By    WILLIAM    WHITING. 


BOSTON: 

CROSBY,    NICHOLS,    AND    COMPANY, 

111  Washington  Street. 
1854. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 

Crosby,  Nichols,  and  Compajot, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


cambridoe: 

MEICALF  AND  COMPANY,  PKINIERS  TO  THE  UNITERSITY. 


CONTENTS 


PAGB 

MEMOIR, 5 

SERMON   I. 

CHRIST  OUR  MASTER  AND  LORD, 67 

SERMON   II. 

GOD   WORKS    IN   YOU, 79 

SERMON   III. 

FIDELITY    IN    THE   FEW    THINGS, 92 

SERMON  IV. 

THE   CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD,    ......       106 

SERMON   V. 

VAIN    THOUGHTS, 120 

SERMON  VI. 

FORBEARANCE,    131 

SERMON  VII. 

THE    RESURRECTION    AND    THE    LIFE,      .....       144 


IV  CONTENTS. 

SEx'^MON  YIll. 

FAITHFUL   IN   LITTLE,   FAITHFUL   IN    MUCH,  .  .  .       156 

SERMON  IX. 

THE   PRAYER   OF   FAITH, 166 

SERMON  X. 

BEARING    WITNESS    TO    THE    TRUTH,       .....       176 

SERMON  XI. 

STEPHEN, 186 

SERMON  XII. 

"  NO   MATTER   WHAT    ONE    BELIEVES,"  ....       198 

SERMON  XIII. 

THE   BLESSING   OR   THE   CURSE   OF   THE   KINGDOM,  .  .211 

SERMON  XIV. 

LIFE   A    VAPOR, 222 

SERMON  XV. 

THE   "hour"    of   TROUBLE   NECESSARY,        ....      234 

SERMON  XVI. 

OFFENCES   MUST   COME, 245 

SERMON  XVII. 

FAREWELL   SERMON   TO   THE    HARTFORD   SOCIETY,  .  .      258 


MEMOIR 


PREFACE. 


The  following  brief  Memoir  of  my  friend  and 
classmate  has  been  written,  at  the  request  of  his 
relatives,  in  the  chance  intervals  of  time  snatched 
from  engrossing  professional  labors.  If  it  fails  to  do 
justice  to  his  sterling  worth,  it  may  yet  be  accepted 
as  a  sincere  tribute  of  affection  and  respect. 

W.  W. 


MEMOIR. 


Joseph  Harrington,  Junior,  was  born  in  Rox- 
bury,  Massachusetts,  on  the  21st  day  of  February, 
A.  D.  1813.  His  father  was  a  lawyer,  who  practised 
his  profession  many  years  in  Norfolk  and  Suffolk 
Counties,  and  occasionally  held  court  as  a  justice 
of  the  peace.  His  mother  still  resides  at  Roxbury, 
the  survivor  of  her  husband  and  eldest  son,  whose 
life  is  the  subject  of  this  brief  narrative. 

The  years  of  childhood  are  not  unfrequently 
passed  over  as  unworthy  of  notice.  It  is  true  that 
they  are  usually  wanting  in  striking  incidents ;  but 
those  are  not  the  only  ones  to  be  deemed  important 
which  excite  the  imagination,  arouse  the  feelings,  or 
seem  to  have  been  followed  by  obvious  results. 

The  genuine  history  of  childhood  is  purely  psycho- 
logical. Its  true  object  is  to  reveal  the  earliest  ten- 
dencies of  the  mind,  —  to  lay  open  the  head-springs 
and  rivulets  from  which  the  stream  took  origin ;  and 
the  successive  contributions  from  verdant  meadow, 
shady  grove,  or  rocky  cliff  which  united  to  form  the 
mingled  tide  of  life. 
I* 


6  MEMOIR. 

Whence,  and  under  what  circumstances,  the 
youth  received  those  successive  impressions  which 
have  moulded  the  character,  —  how  the  world  would 
have  been  changed  to  him  had  his  early  tendencies, 
or  the  influences  acting  upon  him,  been  different 
from  what  they  really  were,  —  what  w^ere  the  laws 
of  his  spiritual  being  established  thus  early,  and  how 
they  transmitted,  reflected,  or  distorted  the  rays  cast 
upon  it  by  the  phenomena  of  life,  —  these  inquiries, 
and  such  as  these,  in  relation  to  any  human  soul, 
would  not  be  without  interest. 

Yet,  however  curious  or  valuable  they  might 
prove,  as  affording  the  means  of  ascertaining  by 
early  observation  the  elements  of  the  true  orbit  of 
the  mind's  progress,  such  elements  are  rarely  noticed, 
and  genuine  data  are  seldom  preserved.  General 
recollection  and  vague  impressions  alone  remain  of 
facts  seen  though  the  misty  medium  of  interven- 
ing years,  and  these  are  often  colored  by  the  senti- 
ments of  a  too  friendly  observer. 

This  is  not  the  only  difficulty  in  the  way  of  ascer- 
taining the  precise  truth.  When  an  individual,  even 
of  tenacious  memory,  and  prone  to  retrospection, 
attempts  to  regain  a  clear  and  definite  recollection 
of  what  he  himself  was  in  early  childhood,  he  will 
find  that  he  has  undertaken  no  easy  task.  He  will 
be  pained  to  learn  that  he  cannot  feel  completely 
certain  as  to  the  phases  of  his  own  moral  or  mental 
constitution  through  its  various  successive  changes. 
Some  leading  facts  may,  indeed,  have  established 
themselves  in  his  memory;  but  all  else  that  made  up 
the  scenery  of  early  life  has  sunk  irrecoverably  into 
uncertainty  and  forgetfulness. 


MEMOIR.  7 

If  the  philosophic  mind  finds  such  difficulty  in 
tracing  the  vestiges  of  its  own  early  experience,  it  is 
worse  than  useless  for  the  stranger  to  attempt  it. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  so  little  is  now  known  of 
the  early  life  of  the  subject  of  this  Memoir.  He  is 
remembered  as  a  bright,  active  boy,  who  engaged 
ardently  in  childish  sports,  feared  nobody,  and  always 
stood  up  for  the  weaker  side.  Resolute  and  deter- 
mined, he  was  always  ready  to  maintain  his  own 
rights  whenever  he  considered  them  assailed,  either 
by  overbearing  schoolmates  or  by  the  village  mis- 
tress herself;  appealing  to  no  one  for  aid  in  such 
emergencies.  Upon  one  occasion,  while  at  school, 
as  early  as  his  sixth  year,  it  was  thought  proper  to 
inflict  some  punishment  upon  him  to  insure  obedi- 
ence, but  when  the  schoolmistress  was  about  to  ap- 
ply the  ferrule,  our  active  and  athletic  pupil  seized 
the  instrument  which  he  thought  destined  to  dis- 
grace him,  and  threw  it  in  fragments  on  the  floor. 
The  teacher  yielded,  and  the  boy  triumphed  for 
the  time,  but  came  the  next  day  with  a  humble 
apology,  insisted  on  by  his  parents,  who  were  per- 
haps roused  by  this  incident  to  that  deep  anxiety 
and  watchfulness  which  became  the  means  of  de- 
veloping in  his  mind  much  that  afterwards  ennobled 
his  life. 

But  there  were  other  elements  of  character  which 
were  strongly  marked,  even  at  this  early  period.  Of 
these,  one  was  a  genuine  and  enthusiastic  love  and 
reverence  for  his  mother:  it  was  more  than  affection; 
it  was  profounder  than  respect;  it  was  not  mere 
obedience,  which   may  be  enforced  by   a  sense  of 


8  MEMOIR. 

duty,  —  it  was  an  elemental  law  of  his  nature;  it 
was  the  native  loyalty  of  the  heart  to  its  true  sover- 
eign. Such  hold,  fortunately,  had  his  mother  upon 
the  destiny  of  her  son ;  she  alone  could  have  con- 
trolled the  wild  and  stormy  elements  that  were  pent 
up  in  this  boy's  breast. 

The  first  law  of  manhood  is  obedience ;  it  is  the 
foundation  of  self-control,  and  is  the  only  element 
by  which  allegiance  to  the  sovereignty  of  conscience 
is  recognized  and  enforced;  obedience  first  to  the 
earthly  parent,  then,  as  the  soul  becomes  cognizant 
of  its  relations  to  God,  obedience  to  his  will. 
Obedience,  not  from  fear,  not  from  compulsion,  but 
from  filial  love,  was  one  of  the  beautiful  laws  that, 
from  his  earliest  years,  was  planted  in  the  mental 
constitution  of  this  brave  child ;  thus  making  a 
strong  contrast  with  the  resolute  and  turbulent  will, 
which  it  was  destined  in  future  years  to  control  and 
subdue. 

On  one  occasion  only,  and  this  when  he  was 
seven  years  old,  his  mother  thought  it  necessary  to 
reinforce  her  influence  by  inflicting  corporal  punish- 
ment. With  emotions  which  her  tears  plainly  re- 
vealed, she  gave  herself  up  to  this  twofold  sacrifice; 
the  noble  heart  of  this  her  oldest  son  was  melted ; 
he  was  overcome  by  the  suffering  of  his  mother, 
and  throwing  his  arms  about  her  neck,  he  made  a 
promise,  which  he  always  kept,  that  she  should 
never  again  have  occasion  to  punish  him  for  dis- 
obedience. 

An  incident  of  his  boyhood  is  related  which  illus- 
trates his  determination  to  be  faithful  to  this  prom- 


MEMOIR.  9 

ise.  When  about  twelve  years  of  age,  he  was 
spending  a  holiday  in  various  amusements  with  his 
schoolmates,  and  was  invited  by  them  to  jump  into 
a  pleasure-boat  which  lay  moored  to  the  shore. 
After  some  time  they  unfastened  the  boat,  and  were 
pushing  off,  when  Joseph  perceived  their  inten- 
tion. He  at  once  requested  the  boys  to  set  him 
on  shore,  and  when  they  refused,  he  replied  that 
he  must  go  on  shore ;  that  he  had  promised  his 
mother  never  to  go  out  in  a  boat  without  her  leave ; 
that  he  had  on  new  clothes,  and  should  be  sorry  to 
spoil  them ;  but  that,  unless  they  would  put  back,  he 
would  jump  overboard  and  swim  ashore.  The  boys 
yielded,  and  he  landed  alone,  having  indeed  lost  the 
company  of  his  playmates,  but  having  gained  self- 
respect  and  the  satisfaction  of  doing  his  duty  and 
keeping  his  pledge. 

Among  the  instructors  whose  influence  upon  him 
seems  to  have  been  most  permanent  was  Edward 
Bliss  Emerson,  a  man  of  great  purity  and  simplicity 
of  character,  uniting  exquisite  delicacy  and  sensitive- 
ness with  an  earnest,  religious  purpose,  sterling 
common  sense,  and  a  wide  and  generous  sympathy 
for  all. 

Elegant  and  graceful  in  manners  and  address, 
rich  in  the  stores  of  classic  learning  as  well  as  of 
polite  literature,  graced  with  every  quality  that 
could  fascinate  youth,  or  command  the  love,  respect, 
and  admiration  of  manhood,  Mr.  Emerson  exercised 
an  irresistible  influence  over  every  one  with  whom 
he  was  intimately  associated. 

Mr.  Harrington  often,  in  after  years,  mentioned 


10  MEMOIR. 

with  reverence  and  gratitude  the  name  of  this  faith- 
ful instructor,  who  so  early  passed  away,  the  first 
stricken  from  that  brilliant  constellation  of  men  of 
genius  bearing  his  name. 

With  good  health,  constant  attendance  upon  the 
excellent  public  schools  of  his  native  place,  and  in 
the  bosom  of  a  home  made  attractive  and  joyous 
by  a  numerous  fanjily  of  brothers  and  sisters,  who 
grew  up  in  mutual  affection  for  each  other,  the 
young  scholar  passed  the  first  fourteen  years  of  his 
life. 

In  September,  1827,  he  entered  Phillips  Academy 
at  Exeter,  New  Hampshire,  at  that  time  under  the 
charge  of  "Dr.  Benjamin  Abbot  and  Dr.  Gideon 
Soule,  whose  names  strike  many  a  hallowed  chord 
of  association  in  the  past,  and  who  are  remembered 
with  gratitude  by  a  long  line  of  illustrious  pupils." 
The  Rev.  A.  A.  Livermore  of  Cincinnati,  a  fellow- 
student  at  Exeter  and  a  classmate  at  Cambridge, 
thus  writes  of  his  first  appearance  at  the  Acad- 
emy :  — 

"  I  well  remember  his  fair,  open  face,  his  light  hair,  and 
affable  manners.  He  was  a  specimen  of  a  healthy,  genu- 
ine, fine-spirited  New  England  boy.  My  impression  is 
clear,  that,  if  one  word  were  used  to  describe  him  then, 
that  word  would  be  magnanimity.  His  mind  was  a  good 
one,  but  his  strength  lay  in  his  heart  and  character.  He 
would  not  allow  meanness  in  plays,  or  tyranny  of  the  strong 
over  the  weak.  His  clear,  blue  eye  would  flash  rebuke  at 
any  unworthy  compliances,  and  his  manly  voice  would  ring 
out  an  indignant  condemnation.  He  was  active  and  ath- 
letic, excelled    in  manly  sports,  and    did  with  might  and 


MEMOIR.  11 

main  whatever  he  undertook,  whether  it  was  to  get  a  lesson, 
catch  a  fish,  or  win  the  game.  He  was  a  good  scholar  ;  but 
his  nature  did  not  run  up  in  any  brilliant  eccentricities  or 
specialties  which  mankind  commonly  call  genius.  His 
genius  was  rotund,  complete,  equal  to  every  occasion. 
Physically,  mentally,  morally,  he  was  a  high-toned,  healthy 
human  creature,  and  he  carried  this  wholesome  equipoise 
through  life.  He  could  do  all  things  well,  and  maintained, 
both  at  the  academy  and  in  college,  high  rank  as  a  scholar. 
His  moral  conduct  and  deportment  were  unexceptionable, 
and  his  heart  poured  out  a  constant  tide  of  good  feeling. 
As  a  friend,  he  was  always  true,  frank,  and  sincere,  and  he 
entered  with  warmth  and  heartiness  into  all  the  school-boy 
confidences  and  ardent  sympathies  of  youth." 

Few  incidents  are  recorded  which  would  give 
point  and  distinctness  to  those  delineations  of  his 
school  days.  That  he  was  thoroughly  prepared  for 
college  is  well  known,  and  that  preparation  could 
have  been  obtained  only  by  constant  application  to 
his  studies. 

He  entered  Harvard  University  in  the  summer  of 
1829.  That  day  on  which  the  name  of  the  young 
student  is  recorded  upon  the  rolls  of  the  University 
should  be  remembered  as  one  of  the  most  important 
eras  in  his  life.  He  has  thus  abandoned  the  busy 
mart,  the  stirring  scenes  of  commercial  enterprise, 
the  excitement  of  politics,  the  hope  of  wealth,  and 
has  consecrated  himself  to  the  pursuit  of  learning. 
He  has  exchanged  the  noisy  and  rattling  pave- 
ment for  the  shady  walk ;  the  dusty  race-course 
for  the  "  academic  grove  "  ;  the  rough  struggles  of 
actual  business  for  the  intellectual  contests  of  Greek 


12  MEMOIR. 

philosophers ;  the  stock-list  and  price-current  for 
Thucydides  and  Xenophon  and  the  ponderous  tomes 
of  the  schoolmen. 

That  the  young  and  ambitious  scholar,  withdrawn 
from  the  immediate  care  of  his  parents,  thrown  into 
fortuitous  association  with  many  young  men  of  his 
own  age,  beginning,  as  it  were,  a  new  life,  breath- 
ing a  new  atmosphere,  and  burdened  with  new  du- 
ties and  trials,  surrounded  with  novel  pleasures  and 
temptations,  should  be  insensible  to  these  changes 
could  not  be  expected  or  desired. 

That  college  life  is  encompassed  with  danger  and 
temptation  cannot  be  denied.  There,  alone,  the 
youth  is  exposed  to  all  the  seductions  of  vice,  while 
its  deformity  is  veiled  by  the  refinements  of  taste  or 
disguised  by  sophistry.  The  hand  of  apparent 
friendship  too  often  raises  to  the  lips  the  honeyed 
but  poisoned  cup,  and  the  unguarded  conscience  is 
too  often  betrayed  into  fatal  error  by  the  sneer  of  the 
libertine  or  the  example  of  the  open-hearted  worship- 
per of  Bacchus.  The  student  who  is  above  such 
unworthy  influences  may  yet  be  in  daily  intimacy 
with  those  who  have  entered  the  university  merely 
because  it  affords  an  elegant  and  fashionable  mode 
of  spending  four  precious  years,  —  young  men  of 
no  fixed  principles  upon  any  subject,  thoughtless,  in- 
dolent spendthrifts,  who  ha/e  no  taste  for  knowledge 
and  little  capacity  for  acquiring  it ;  who  pride  them- 
selves upon  their  wealth  or  family,  and  expect  that 
the  wide  world  will  be  anxious  to  do  them  reverence 
when  they  shall  be  ready  to  receive  it ;  scorning  the 
ambitious  student,  who,  rather  than  to  waste  the 


MEMOIR.  13 

midnight  hours  with  jolly  companions  in  idle  dissi- 
pation, prefers  to  spend  them  in  communing  with 
the  master-spirits  of  ancient  times,  and  in  treasuring 
up  their  immortal  thoughts. 

Then  there  is  the  danger  of  a  too  high-wrought 
ambition,  that  may  lead  to  a  miserable  wreck  of 
health  and  happiness.  The  rivalry  of  youth,  not 
less  intense  than  that  of  riper  years,  may  lead  the 
heart  far  away  from  the  pure  and  serene  atmosphere 
in  which  alone  the  tree  of  knowledge  puts  forth  its 
branches  and  bears  its  fruit.  College  life,  like  the 
hot-bed,  compels  every  seed  either  to  rot  or  to  germi- 
nate, and  each  plant  must  be  developed  according  to 
the  law  of  its  own  constitution.  It  will  select  of  the 
various  species  of  nourishment  offered  to  it  that 
which  is  congenial  to  its  organization ;  the  rest  it 
will  reject  as  poison.  The  law  of  its  vitality  will 
instantly  decide  what  it  shall  absorb  and  what  it 
shall  refuse,  and  the  result  will  disclose  to  us  what 
that  law  was. 

Thus  life  in  college  develops  each  student's  pure 
individuality,  and  the  young  scholar  from  Exeter 
was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  He  had  attained 
knowledge  enough  of  the  preparatory  studies  to  pass 
a  critical  examination  for  admission  to  the  Fresh- 
man class. 

Endowed  by  nature  with  a  strong  and  healthy 
physical  constitution,  his  active  habits  had  tended  to 
strengthen  and  improve  it.  He  enjoyed  the  exhilara- 
tion of  out-of-door  air  and  exercise,  and  was  accus- 
tomed, at  frequent  intervals,  to  walk  a  dozen  miles 
or  more  in  the  day,  without  sensible  fatigue.     Dur- 

2 


14  MEMOIR. 

ing  vacations,  he  sometimes  took  long  journeys 
on  foot,  with  one  or  more  of  his  classmates.  He 
learned  the  arts  of  boxing  and  fencing,  not  only  for 
the  vigorous  and  healthful  exercise  which  they  re- 
quire, but  for  the  purpose  of  self-defence.  His  eye 
was  quick,  his  judgment  cool,  his  dexterity  unusual, 
and  his  skill  added  not  a  little  to  that  fearlessness  or 
bravery  which  marked  his  personal  bearing.  He 
feared  no  man  in  single  combat,  armed  only  with 
nature's  weapons.  High-spirited,  and  quick  to  no- 
tice insult,  he  bore  it  from  no  one,  unless  followed 
by  explanation  or  apology.  Entertaining  a  high 
sense  of  honor  himself,  he  could  not  tamely  submit 
to  a  taunt  more  than  to  a  blow.  He  was  among 
the  foremost  in  all  the  games  of  the  "  Delta,"  and 
his  broad  chest  and  well-developed  form  gave  to  his 
figure,  though  but  little  above  the  medium  height,  a 
certain  solidity  and  dignity  which  corresponded  with 
the  manliness  of  his  character.  Yet,  in  all  these 
athletic  sports,  even  in  the  exciting  broadsword  exer- 
cise, he  was  always  fair,  courteous,  and  good-tem- 
pered, and  he  never  forgot  what  was  due  to  his 
adversary,  whether  victorious  or  not. 

Full  of  good-humor  at  all  times,  and  delighting  in 
whatever  gave  pleasure  to  others,  he  was  fond  of 
daring  frolics ;  and  not  a  few  of  those  wild  pranks 
which  sometimes  annoyed  the  college  tutors,  and 
procured  for  his  classmates  "  a  miss "  from  recita- 
tion, were  supposed  to  have  been  shrewdly  planned 
and  adroitly  executed  by  this  light-hearted  youth ; 
but  he  never  destroyed  a  sixpence'  worth  of  property, 
or  intentionally  wounded  the  feelings  of  a  single 
member  of  the  government  of  the  University. 


MEMOIR.  15 

Perhaps  it  could  not  justly  be  said  that  he  loved 
study  over  much ;  his  vivacity  of  temperament, 
vigorous  health,  fondness  for  athletic  exercise,  and 
other  peculiarities  of  taste  and  temper,  were  all 
against  his  becoming  a  recluse  or  a  bookworm.  Yet 
he  conscientiously  devoted  his  time  to  the  college 
course  of  studies,  always  mastered  his  lessons,  and 
held,  as  a  scholar,  an  honorable  position  among  his 
classmates.  He  was  not  inclined,  at  that  time,  to 
the  study  of  abstract  science  ;  and  the  more  recondite 
branches  of  mathematics,  and  metaphysics  were  pur- 
sued by  him  chiefly  as  means  of  mental  discipline. 

But  he  was  a  philologist ;  he  delighted  in  the 
English  classic  poets.  Chaucer,  Spenser,  Milton, 
and  Shakspeare  were  the  objects  of  his  genuine  and 
unaffected  admiration.  The  Italian,  French,  and 
German  languages  were  also  studied  by  him  with 
more  interest  than  the  ancient  tongues,  although 
there  was  less  opportunity  then  than  at  present  for 
attaining  a  thorough  knowledge  of  them  at  the  Uni- 
versity. 

The  Italian  first  attracted  him,  because  it  was  the 
language  of  music,  —  he  had  not  then  become 
familiar  with  the  wild,  harrowing  pictures  of  the 
"  Inferno,"  the  seductive  stories  of  the  "  Decame- 
rone,"  the  Christian  chivalry  of  the  "  Jerusalemme 
Liberata,"  or  the  touching  sonnets  of  the  poet  of 
Vaucluse. 

Bat  the  literature  of  Germany  early  took  a  deeper 
hold  on  his  imagination ;  and  as  he  became  more 
acquainted  with  the  genius  of  the  language,  its  radi- 
cal affinity  to  the  English,  of  which  it  forms  so  large 


16  MEMOIR. 

an  element,  its  richness,  vigor,  and  flexibility,  its 
capability  of  being  moulded  to  suit  most  opposite 
characteristics,  and,  above  all,  with  the  freshness, 
depth,  variety,  and  independence  of  thought  which 
are  embodied  in  it  and  constitute  its  chief  glory,  he 
determined  to  master  all  its  treasures. 

As  long  as  he  lived,  he  never  abandoned  the 
learning  or  the  literature  of  Germany,  enjoying  not 
only  Goethe,  Schiller,  and  the  minor  poets,  but 
studying  with  ever-increasing  interest  the  works  of 
those  great  theologians  who,  by  vigorous  research, 
and  faithful  investigation,  have  rendered  such  valu- 
able aid  to  the  profession  which  he  afterwards  chose. 

Music  was  a  source  of  daily  delight  to  him  ;  his 
organization  was  delicate,  his  ear  accurate,  his  voice 
agreeable,  and  of  good  compass.  Many  a  time  in 
summer  he  wakened  the  midnight  air  with  his  gay 
carols,  and  often  the  silent  and  sombre  walls  of  the 
old  college  buildings  echoed  back  the  trios  and  quar- 
tettes to  which  his  voice  added  much  of  their  grace 
and  sweetness. 

The  college  laws  forbade  the  student  to  be  present 
at  the  opera  and  theatre,  but  the  laws  of  his  consti- 
tution rendered  these  attractions  irresistible,  and  as 
the  tutors  and  professors  themselves  occasionally 
visited  these  places  of  amusement,  he  could  see  no 
valid  reason  why  he  should  be  driven  from  the 
shrine  of  the  muses.  But  it  was  not  mere  amuse- 
ment that  he  sought ;  he  was  passionately  fond  of 
music;  every  note  melted  into  his  heart,  and  the 
memory  of  fine  passages  was  a  perpetual  joy  to  him. 
He  practised  the  more  remarkable   parts  of  every 


MEMOIR.  17 

opera  which  he  heard,  and  became  sufficiently  famil- 
iar with  them,  not  only  to  understand  them,  but  to 
appreciate  the  difficulty  of  every  "  cadence." 

His  appetite  for  the  science  became  more  intense 
as  he  better  understood  it,  and  his  pleasure  increased 
as  his  acquaintance  extended  from  the  well-known 
compositions  of  Rossini,  Bellini,  &c.  to  composers 
of  a  widely  different  order  of  genius. 

The  drama,  both  comic  and  tragic,  was  from  his 
early  youth  a  favorite  source  of  amusement  and  in- 
struction. The  fine  readings  of  the  Kembles  made 
a  strong  impression  on  his  mind;  every  new  point 
brought  out  by  these  great  tragedians  was  remem- 
bered, marked  down  in  his  copy  of  Shakspeare,  and 
not  unfrequently  repeated  to  his  intimate  friends, 
with  much  satisfaction.  He  was  accustomed  to 
study,  and  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the  plays,  not 
only  of  Shakspeare,  but  of  Ben  Jonson,  and  of  most  of 
the  old  English  dramatic  writers,  and  these  were  the 
fountains  whence  flowed  that  rich  and  pure  lan- 
guage which  seemed  natural  to  him  in  later  years. 
His  fondness  for  dramatic  performances  did  not 
cease  till  the  more  serious  duties  of  life  shut  the  door 
against  such  entertainments. 

The  study  of  elocution,  then  for  the  first  time  in 
the  University  made  a  special  branch  of  education, 
engi'ossed  much  of  his  attention.  Indeed,  it  was  at 
that  time  a  subject  of  general  interest  among  the 
students,  and  not  a  few  of  the  most  distinguished 
scholars,  in  the  different  classes,  entered  into  a  gen- 
erous rivalry  with  each  other,  in  the  practice  of  pub- 
lic speaking  or  declamation.     A  learned  professor  of 

2* 


18  MEMOIR. 

elocution  laid  down  rales  for  training  and  exercising 
the  voice  so  as  to  develop  its  full  capacities,  and 
gave  in  his  own  performances  admirable  illustrations 
of  all  that  could  be  done  by  the  orator,  drilled  and 
disciplined  according  to  the  rules  of  art.  He  taught 
his  pupils  that  mere  declamation,  however  elegant, 
graceful,  or  perfect  in  its  intonations,  has  no  power 
to  excite  the  imagination  or  to  touch  the  heart ;  that 
it  is  only  when  the  speaker  forgets  himself,  and  is 
carried  away  by  glowing  thoughts,  genuine  senti- 
ment, and  uncontrollable  enthusiasm,  that  his  words 
are  really  eloquent  and  effective. 

Young  Harrington  studied  elocution  as  an  art, 
and  in  his  Junior  year  carried  off  one  of  the  Boylston 
prizes  for  declamation,  proving  the  high  estimation 
in  which  his  powers  as  an  elocutionist  were  then 
held,  and  although  no  one  could  exceed  him  in  the 
euphony  of  his  manly  voice,  in  the  musical  rhythm  of 
his  cadences,  the  propriety  of  his  intonations,  or  in 
the  ease  and  gracefulness  of  his  gestures,  yet  his 
elocution  fell  short  of  that  effect  which  it  attained  in 
after  years,  when  he  spoke  unconsciously,  from  a 
full  heart,  and  on  subjects  of  momentous  interest. 

This  practice  of  declamation,  united  as  it  was  to  a 
genuine  fondness  for  dramatic  compositions,  gave 
him  great  advantages  in  the  pursuits  to  which  he 
was  afterwards  devoted,  as  a  teacher  of  youth,  and  a 
preacher  of  the  Gospel. 

He  was  at  one  time  much  interested  in  the  study 
of  phrenology,  of  which  Dr.  Spurzheim  was  then  an 
eminent  advocate,  and  whose  instructions  were  at- 
tentively listened  to  by  many  students  of  his  class ; 


MEMOIR.  19 

but  neither  for  this  nor  for  any  other  pursuit  did  he 
ever  neglect  his  college  duties,  but  was  an  exemplary 
student,  and  faithful  to  every  lesson.  His  high 
sense  of  moral  obligation  ;  the  consciousness  that  his 
future  all  hung  upon  the  present ;  his  dread  of  dis- 
appointing the  just  expectations  of  his  parents,  who 
had  made  great  sacrifices  to  give  him  a  liberal  edu- 
cation ;  his  personal  ambition  ;  and,  above  all,  his 
love  and  respect  for  his  mother,  — conspired  to  add 
vigor  to  his  manly  resolves,  that  no  duty  should  be 
left  undone,  and  that  neither  music,  the  drama,  the 
"  Delta,"  nor  his  love  of  wild  adventure,  should 
baffle  his  efforts  to  follow  the  straight  path  of  labori- 
ous study.  His  occasional  letters  show  the  difficul- 
ties he  encountered  and  the  success  he  attained. 
The  strength  of- a  man's  virtue  is  known  only  by  the 
power  of  the  temptations  he  has  vanquished  ;  and 
that  character  is  truly  noble  which  obeys  the  imperi- 
ous dictates  of  duty  when  it  is  opposed  to  the  tastes, 
habits,  and  passions. 

Few  young  men  have  passed  through  the  fiery 
ordeal  of  college  life  with  less  cause  for  regret  than 
he.  His  life  was  pure  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 
He  was  never  guilty  of  profanity  in  earnest  or  in 
jest,  and  one  who  was  his  friend  for  more  than 
twenty  years,  and  who  was,  during  all  his  college 
life,  in  the  habit  of  daily  unrestrained  intercourse 
with  him,  and  to  whom,  at  all  times,  he  poured  out 
his  heart  as  to  a  brother,  cannot  recall  a  single  in- 
stance of  coarse  language,  thought,  or  allusion 
uttered  or  suggested  by  him. 

At  that  period  of  life  when  the  thoughtless  are  too 


20 


MEMOIR. 


apt  to  lay  up  for  themselves  a  store  of  self-reproach, 
—  the  season  of  hot  and  impetuous  blood,  —  his  in- 
stinctive delicacy  shrank  in  disgust  from  gross 
wickedness,  and  his  high  sense  of  honor  repelled  the 
idea  of  tampering  with  female  innocence. 

Yet  he  was  a  romantic  youth  ;  his  soul  was  filled 
with  dreams  of  poetic  beauty  ;  he  paid  profound 
homage  to  all  that  was  graceful  and  lovely  in  man 
or  woman ;  and  he  not  only  worshipped  the  ideal  and 
visionary,  but  was  in  truth  an  enthusiastic  admirer 
of  the  actual.  He  was  ready  to  bend  the  knee  at 
the  shrine  of  beauty,  not  senseless,  insipid,  and 
unmeaning  beauty,  but  that  higher  and  nobler  qual- 
ity which  commands  "the  admiration  and  respect  of 
refined  and  sensible  men. 

This  fact  sometimes  subjected  him  to  censure  for 
inconstancy.  Yet  the  pure,  chivalrous,  and  manly 
sentiments  which  he  entertained  towards  all  females 
formed  one  of  the  secret  charms  that  shielded  him 
from  the  thought  of  dishonorable  trifling. 

Accustomed  to  good  society,  he  was  scrupulously 
neat  and  unostentatious  in  his  dress,  and  he  was 
graceful  and  self-possessed  in  manners.  If  in  early 
youth  he  had  any  tendency  to  display,  it  wore  off 
when  the  earnest  work  of  life  began,  and  simplicity 
of  heart  and  unconsciousness  of  self,  indispensable 
conditions  of  saying  or  doing  any  worthy  thing, 
were,  in  later  years,  the  prominent  features  of  his 
mind. 

He  was  a  sincere  and  truthful  man ;  he  made  no 
timid  concessions  or  compromises,  but  stoutly  de- 
fended his  principles  when  they  were  assailed,  and 


MEMOIR.  21 

in  him  the  absent  friend  was  sure  to  find  a  fearless 
and  independent  champion,  whenever  the  occasion 
called  for  one.  Though  he  loved  to  please  others, 
he  was  no  time-server,  but  a  brave,  self-relying,  gen- 
erous fellow,  and  had  withal  that  further  quality 
which  lies  at  the  basis  of  manly  virtue,  decision  of 
character.  He  was  resolute,  but  not  obstinate ;  firm, 
decided,  steadfast ;  he  did  not  sit  down  satisfied 
merely  because  he  had  come  to  a  conclusion,  but  he 
acted  upon  his  determination.  He  had  confidence 
in  his  own  judgment,  a  strenuous  will,  energy  and 
courage  to  bear  and  to  execute. 

Such  were  the  striking  outlines  of  his  character 
when  he  left  the  University,  understood  as  they  then 
were  by  a  few  only  of  his  intimate  friends,  but  to 
them  as  palpable  and  clearly  marked  as  were  the 
features  of  his  fine  and  beaming  face. 

Mr.  Harrington  was  graduated  in  the  summer  of 
1833,  and  received  the  usual  degree  of  Bachelor  of 
Arts.  He  was  thenceforward  to  depend  on  his  own 
resources,  and  not  only  to  maintain  himself,  but  to 
lend  a  helping  hand  to  the  younger  members  of  the 
family.  While  in  college,  he  practised  rigid  economy, 
for  a  long  time  giving  up  the  use  of  meat,  and  living 
simply  on  bread  and  milk  ;  and  he  contributed  some- 
thing to  lighten  the  burden  of  his  expenses  by  keep- 
ing school  at  Walpole.  Shortly  before  the  end  of 
his  last  term,  having  obtained  leave  of  the  President, 
he  went  to  East  Greenwich,  Rhode  Island,  where  he 
became  principal  of  the  academy.  While  teaching 
there,  he  wrote  the  part  which  he  delivered  at  the 
time  of  his  graduation.     After  residing  a  little  more 


22  MEMOIR. 

than  six  months  at  East  Greenwich,  he  took  charge 
of  the  Hawes  School  at  South  Boston,  January  14th, 
1834. 

This  was  at  that  time  reputed  to  be  one  of  the 
most  difficult  of  the  Boston  schools  to  manage,  and 
held  the  lowest  rank  of  them  all.  Some  of  its  pupils 
were  spoken  of  as  "  turbulent,  refractory,  and  pro- 
fane ;  and  the  young  man,  not  yet  of  age,  who  dared 
to  undertake  its  charge,  was  looked  upon  with  curi- 
osity and  surprise  by  all."  The  spirit  in  which  Mr. 
Harrington  undertook  this  new  office,  the  powers  he 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  hearts  of  his  pupils,  his 
success  as  a  teacher  of  youth,  the  gradual  bending 
of  his  energies  to  the  great  office  of  developing  the 
religious  and  intellectual  nature  of  those  over  whom 
he  had  influence,  are  well  known  to  all  who  took 
interest  in  that  school. 

He  was  the  founder  of  an  association  in  South 
Boston,  which  still  lives  in  full  vigor,  devoted  to  the 
literary,  moral,  and  religious  culture  of  its  members, 
and  their  feelings  towards  him  were  expressed,  upon 
receiving  the  news  of  his  decease,  in  a  series  of  reso- 
lutions which  show  how  deep  was  the  good  impres- 
sion his  life  and  teachings  had  made  upon  the  char- 
acter and  morals  of  the  young  men  of  that  place. 

"  Whereas,  recent  intelligence  from  California  has 
brought  to  us  the  sad  tidings  of  the  death  of  the  Rev. 
Joseph  Harrington,  —  one  who  had  gone  forth  in  obedience 
to  the  injunction,  "  Go,  teach  all  nations  " ;  and  who  has 
died  with  the  Gospel  armor  on,  in  the  active  discharge  of 
conscientious  duty  to  the  eternal  interests  of  his  fellow-man  : 
And  whereas,  the  deceased   has   sustained   the  very  im- 


MEMOIR.  23 

portant  relation  of  instructor  to  many  of  the  members  of 
this  Association,  and  has  been  instrumental  in  makinji  a 
deep  impress  for  good  upon  the  characters  and  morals  of 
the  young  men  of  this  place,  — 

"  Resolved,  That  by  this  allotment  of  Providence  wo 
stand  as  mourners  at  a  father's  grave  ;  for  in  the  wisdom 
of  his  counsels,  in  his  assiduous  care  of  our  youthful  minds, 
in  his  anxiety  to  make  pure  and  noble  impressions  upon 
the  yielding  tablets  of  our  forming  characters,  in  his  con- 
stant labors  to  mould  us  to  manly  and  virtuous  life,  we 
have  lost  all  of  a  father's  wisdom,  care,  and  devotion. 

"  Resolved,  That  we  will,  with  warm  interest,  cherish 
those  wise  instructions,  those  noble  principles,  those  dis- 
interested labors  for  others'  good,  that  faithfulness  to  our- 
selves and  to  every  duty  which  it  was  his  labor  and  desire 
ever  to  inculcate  in  us  ;  and  that,  with  all  that  is  pure  and 
good  in  our  hearts,  we  will  embalm  his  memory,  as  the 
only  tribute  to  his  manly  talents  and  goodness  of  heart 
which  is  left  us  in  this  hour  of  affliction, 

"  Resolved,  That  we  deeply  sympathize  with  his  afflicted 
family  in  this  dispensation,  knowing  how  great  must  be  the 
loss  of  one  so  friendly,  so  devoted,  and  so  faithful  in  every 
relation  of  life  ;  and  we  trust  that  the  blessed  consolations 
of  the  Gospel  which  he  preached,  in  which  he  lived,  and  in 
which  he  died,  may  be  ministered  to  them,  in  all  its  heal- 
ing richness  and  power. 

"  Resolved,  That  these  resolutions  be  entered  upon  the 
records  of  this  Association  ;  and  that  a  copy,  signed  by  the 
presiding  and  recording  officers,  be  forwarded  to  the  family 
of  the  deceased. 

"  Benjamin  Pope,  President. 
Barnard  Capen,  Secretary.''^ 


24  MEMOIR. 

Mr.  Harrington's  success  as  a  teacher  at  the 
Hawes  School  was  remarkable.  His  own  generous 
heart,  his  fearlessness,  his  resolution  and  decision, 
his  gentleness  and  good-humor,  his  absolute  truth- 
fulness and  sincerity,  the  commanding  qualities  of 
his  mind,  his  clear  intellect,  his  love  of  justice,  and 
his  excellent  scholarship,  all  combined  to  render  him 
the  inan  for  such  a  place. 

To  deal  with  wild  and  turbulent  boys,  who  have 
never  felt  the  restraint  of  discipline,  requires  a  fear- 
less teacher  ;  to  repress  profanity  demands  the  pres- 
ence, not  of  the  timid,  but  of  the  brave  and  heroic 
man,  who  bows  in  reverence  before  God ;  to  eradi- 
cate falsehood,  there  is  need  of  magnanimous  truth- 
fulness to  put  it  to  shame.  The  bud  of  promise  is 
unfolded  only  under  the  crystal  lens  of  a  pure  and 
tender  heart,  that  concentrates  upon  it  the  warmth 
of  a  thousand  scattered  rays  of  light  and  love. 

That  such  apparently  inconsistent  qualities  should 
be  embodied  in  one  individual  is  not  to  be  often  ex- 
pected, but  they  were  so  combined  in  him,  that  each 
held  its  due  influence  in  his  well-balanced  mind. 
One  who  was  intimately  acqiiainted  with  the  Hawes 
School  thus  writes  :  — 

"  His  insight  into  human  nature  was  so  keen,  that  it 
was  often  remarked  by  children  themselves,  '  Nobody  can 
tell  a  lie  to  Mr.  Harrington.' 

"  While  he  required  perfect  order  in  his  school,  he  made 
every  effort  to  relieve  the  tedium,  by  means  of  frequent 
change  of  position,  and  by  music,  teaching  singing  himself 
to  his  pupils.  He  also  abolished  the  use  of  corporal  pun- 
ishment for  girls,  believing  that  by  it  their  delicacy  was 


MEMOIR.  25 

outraged,  and  thus  the  standard  of  responsibility  was  lowered. 
In  introducing  all  these  novelties  into  his  school,  he  was  re- 
garded by  some  as  an  enthusiast  and  innovator,  but  the 
efficacy  of  these  plans  has  been  shown  by  their  general 
adoption. 

"  At  the  close  of  five  years  he  gave  up  his  school  to  pro- 
secute more  closely  his  theological  studies,  leaving  it 
among  the  first  in  the  city. 

"  He  lived  to  be  fully  repaid  for  all  his  unwearied  exer- 
tions, and  his  anxious  toil  in  this  scene  of  his  labors,  by 
witnessing  the  worth,  respectability,  and  usefulness  of  his 
pupils,  as  men  and  women,  and  by  often  receiving  from 
one  and  another  letters  of  undiminished  afiection  and  inter- 
est. While  in  Boston,  a  short  time  before  his  death,  he 
met  one  of  his  first  pupils,  and  congratulated  him  upon  his 
success  in  life.  His  reply  was,  '  Mr.  Harrington,  all  that 
I  am  I  owe  to  you.  Do  you  recollect  when  I  was  a  reck- 
less boy,  and  you  had  tried  all  common  means  to  make  me 
attend  to  my  duties,  you  at  last  said  to  me,  "  If  your  dear 
mothcr,^vho  loved  you  so  much,  can  see  your  conduct  now, 
do  you  not  think  it  will  grieve  her  spirit .?  "  Then  you 
touched  the  right  chord,  and  from  that  hour  I  determined  to 
become  an  altered  being.'  " 

It  was  while  in  this  field  of  arduous  labor  at  South 
Boston  that  Mr.  Harrington  began  to  turn  his  atten- 
tion towards  the  ministry.  Nor  was  it  an  unnatural 
transition  from  the  education  of  youth  to  the  teach- 
ing of  men.  Any  instructor  who  feels  the  responsi- 
bility and  delight  of  unfolding  to  ingenuous  youth 
the  elements  of  moral  and  religious  truth,  who  ob- 
serves how  readily  the  frank-hcartcd  child  receives 
impressions,  and  who  thus  perceives  that  his  own 
errors  are  repeated  by  many  of  his  pupils,  his  faults 

3 


26  MEMOIR. 

daguerreotyped  in  their  book  of  life,  never  to  be 
wholly  obliterated,  can  with  difficulty  avoid  thorough 
and  frequent  self-examination.  When  that  work  is 
once  begun,  it  will  be  prosecuted,  not  only  from  a 
sense  of  duty  to  himself,  but  from  a  just  apprehen- 
sion that  the  pure  and  trusting  hearts  of  innocent 
children  might  otherwise  be  touched  and  soiled  by 
the  presence  of  some  unhallowed  thought  emanating 
from  their  instructor. 

Having  once  tasted  that  supreme  felicity  which 
flows  from  manly  and  successful  efforts  to  exalt  and 
ennoble  any  human  soul,  what  wonder  that  he  should 
feel  that  the  path  of  duty  and  happiness  lay  in  the 
same  direction.  It  is  but  a  short  step  from  the  gen- 
uine instruction  of  youth  to  the  preaching  of  the 
Gospel  to  all.  The  progress  of  Mr.  Harrington's 
mind  towards  this  end  was  observed  by  many  of  his 
friends,  and  among  them  a  distinguished  Baptist 
clergyman,  who  was  at  that  time  most  intimate  with 
him,  and  who  watched  his  career  with  almost  paren- 
tal interest,  thus  wrote  of  him,  after  his  decease. 

"  Mrs.   Harrington  :  — 

"  Deeply  do  I  sympathize  with  you  in  the  bereave- 
ment you  have  sustained  by  the  recent  death  of  your  be- 
loved husband.  I  have  been  acquainted  with  him  for 
many  years,  and  only  to  cherish  toward  him  increasing 
respect  and  love.  My  acquaintance  with  him  commenced 
at  South  Boston,  while  he  was  yet  a  young  man,  per- 
haps unknown  to  yourself.  He  had  just  succeeded  to 
the  mastership  of  the  Hawes  School ;'  and  as  I  was  then 
settled  in  that  part  of  the  city,  and  had  taken  a  house 
near  to  his  school,  he  applied  for  board  in   my  family. 


MEMOIR.  27 

I  had  no  intention  of  keeping  boarders,  and,  besides,  felt  a 
little  prejudiced  against  the  new  master  for  having  succeed- 
ed against  my  old  friend  Forbes,  who  was  a  rival  candidate 
for  the  vacancy.  But  young  Harrington  appeared  so  frank 
and  open,  so  intelligent  and  affable,  and  withal  spoke  so 
kindly  of  his  unsuccessful  rival,  that  my  scruples  were 
readily  overcome,  and  in  accordance  with  his  request,  he 
became  a  member  of  my  family.  He  celebrated  the 
twenty-first  anniversary  of  his  birth  at  my  house,  his  par- 
ents, brothers,  and  sisters  being  present  on  the  occasion. 
The  characteristic  joyousness  which  then  beamed  upon  his 
features  is  still  fresh  in  my  memory.  The  morning  of  life 
dawned  brightly  upon  him,  and,  alas  !  his  sun  has  gone 
down  while  it  was  yet  day.  The  many  pleasant  social  inter- 
views which  I  enjoyed  with  him  while  under  my  roof  deep- 
ened the  favorable  impressions  I  had  formed  of  him,  and  re- 
sulted in  the  permanent  and  uninterrupted  friendship  which 
has  since  existed  between  us.  He  was  not  only  a  scholar, 
and  "  a  ripe  and  good  one,"  enthusiastic  in  his  profession  as 
a  teacher,  but  I  soon  found  that  his  heart  was  set  upon  some- 
thing higher  than  mere  intellectual  training,  and  that  he  had 
a  growing  desire  for  a  profession  in  which  he  might  devote 
himself  more  exclusively  to  the  development  of  moral  and 
religious  truth.  I  endeavored  to  encourage  and  strengthen 
these  aspirations.  I  had  confidence  in  his  Christian  charac- 
ter. Though  differing  from  him  on  some  points  of  theol- 
ogy, I  believed,  and  that  belief  has  been  confirmed  by  his 
subsequent  history,  that  his  ministry  would  be  occupied 
more  in  setting  forth  the  spirit  and  life  of  piety,  than  in  dry 
speculations  and  unprofitable  controversy.  He  had  a  keen 
relish  for  religious  truth,  no  matter  from  whose  lips  it  came, 
and  seemed  to  feed  upon  it  as  upon  the  bread  which  cometh 
down  from  heaven.  It  has  not  surprised  me  to  learn,  that, 
in  the  various  places  where  he'  has  preached,  he  has  been 


28  MEMOIR. 

known  more  as  a  Christian  minister  than  as  the  advocate  of 
denominational  peculiarities.  Nor  am  I  surprised  to  learn 
that,  in  his  last  moments,  when  far  from  the  home  of  his 
childhood,  whither  he  had  gone  to  carry  the  good  news  of 
salvation,  and  to  furnish  seasonably  to  the  young,  the  ad- 
venturous, and  the  tempted  the  safeguards  of  our  holy 
faith,  —  I  am  not  surprised  to  be  informed  that,  falling,  as 
he  did,  with  his  hai'ness  on,  in  the  midst  of  his  benevolent 
and  religious  enterprise,  he  was  sustained  and  cheered 
by  the  presence  of  God  and  the  hope  of  a  blessed  immor- 
tality. I  sincerely  grieve  at  his  death.  He  was  in  the  ma- 
turity of  his  strength,  full  of  life  and  hope.  I  can  scarcely 
realize  even  now  that  he  is  gone,  that  those  lips  are  sealed 
and  that  speaking  eye  closed  for  ever.  Nay,  my  dear 
madam,  we  are  not  compelled  thus  to  think  of  our  departed 
friend.  He  is  not  dead,  but  hath  ascended  to  a  purer  and  a 
higher  life,  where,  through  the  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  we  may  hope,  amid  brighter  scenes,  to  renew  the 
acquaintance  and  the  friendships  of  earth. 

"  When  intelligence  reached  me  of  your  husband's 
death,  I  immediately  wrote  a  letter  of  condolence  to  his 
afflicted  father,  but  in  the  evening  paper  of  the  same  day 
saw  a  notice  that  he,  too,  had  gone,  and  was  thus  spared 
the  necessity  of  human  sympathy,  which  would  have  been 
but  an  inadequate  relief  under  his  crushing  bereavement. 

"  Accept,  Mrs.  Harrington,  these  spontaneous  reminiscen- ' 

ces  as  a  token  of  affectionate  regard  to  the  memory  of  your 

departed  husband,  with  my  earnest  prayer  that  Heaven's 

choicest  blessings  may  rest  upon  you  and  the  fatherless  child. 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"  RoLLiN  H.  Neale. 
"Boston,  August  1st,  1853." 

Always  prudent  in  his  personal  expenditures, 
Mr.  Harrington  was  ever  ready  to  spend  his  money 


MEMOIR.  29 

for  the  benefit  of  others.  He  devoted  a  large  por- 
tion of  his  salary  at  the  Hawes  School  to  liberal 
efforts  in  assisting  in  business  some  of  the  younger 
members  of  the  family ;  and,  moreover,  by  this 
praiseworthy  generosity,  incurred  obligations  which, 
though  small  in  amount,  required  for  their  ulti- 
mate liquidation  no  less  than  fourteen  years  of  he- 
roic self-denial  and  untiring  industry  in  labors  out- 
side of  his  professional  duties.  Only  a  few  months 
before  his  death,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  paying 
principal  and  interest,  to  the  last  farthing. 

"  It  was  while  engaged  in  teaching,"  writes  one 
who  knew  him  well,  "  that  his  mind  revolved  the  se- 
rious question  of  his  future  profession.  His  previous 
inclination  had  been  for  the  law,  and  he  had  gone 
through  considerable  preparatory  study ;  but  the 
ministry  now  claimed  his  solemn  attention.  The 
various  worldly  sacrifices  of  the  latter  were  duly 
weighed.  He  seriously  put  to  himself  the  question, 
whether  he  could  relinquish  all  the  gayeties  of  life, 
into  which  he  had  hitherto  entered  with  much  enjoy- 
ment. This  and  all  kindred  questions  were  long  the 
subject  of  earnest  and  prayerful  consideration.  Be- 
lieving that  he  could  serve  God  in  one  honest  walk 
of  life  as  well  as  in  another,  he  strove  to  know  His 
will  in  his  decision.  The  impulse  to  devote  himself 
to  his  holy  calling  came,  as  he  devoutly  believed, 
from  on  high.  He  was  standing,  during  morning 
prayer  in  his  school-room,  with  closed  eyes,  leading 
the  devotional  exercise,  when  his  doubt  and  question- 
ing vanished,  and  his  duty  seemed  to  be  clearly  opened 
to  him.    With  him,  to  know  his  duty  was  to  form 

3* 


30  MEMOIR. 

his  purpose,  and  to  give  himself  entirely  to  the  ful- 
filment of  it.  So  in  the  case  in  question  ;  from  that 
moment  he  was  a  minister  of  Jesus  Christ." 

In  a  letter  to  his  mother,  written  on  an  anniver- 
sary of  this  day  of  signal  experience,  he  writes  thus : 
"  This  day^  three  years  ago,  my  mind  received  that 
bias  which  it  has  since  retained,  and  which  I  hope  it 
may  ever  retain,  —  about  9.20  A.  M.  on  Tuesday 
preceding  Thanksgiving,  1836.  The  resolve  was,  / 
tvill  be  a  public  teacher  of  7norals  and  religiony 

It  has  been  before  observed,  that  Mr.  Harrington 
was  destined  to  the  practice  of  the  law,  a  profes- 
sion to  which  his  powers  were  well  adapted,  and  in 
which,  doubtless,  he  would  have  acquired  distinction. 
Much  of  his  previous  education  had  tended  in  that 
direction,  and  the  law  was  well  suited  to  his 
ambitious  nature,  opening  a  field  for  exercising 
the  highest  and  noblest  powers  of  the  mind,  and, 
when  pursued  with  high  and  honorable  aims,  calcu- 
lated, not  less  than  the  clerical  profession,  to  elevate 
the  morals,  to  enlarge  the  mind,  and  store  it  with 
science,  literature,  and  all  that  adorns  the  life  and 
character  of  a  high-toned  Christian  gentleman.  He 
did  not  forsake  the  study  of  jurisprudence  because 
he  undervalued  its  dignity,  or  because  he  thought 
that  the  life  of  a  religious  teacher  was  less  beset  with 
temptation,  or  less  likely  to  lead  him  astray,  than 
that  of  a  student  of  law.  As  a  lawyer,  he  would 
have  been  no  less  upright  and  conscientious  than 
as  a  clergyman ;  nor  would  he  have  tolerated  the 
miserable  cant  which  pronounces  one  person  pious 
merely   because    he    dons   the   surplice,  or   another 


MEMOIR.  31 

less  virtuous  because  he  ministers  at  the  altar  of 
justice. 

He  was  well  aware  that  the  lawyer  is  brought  into 
close  contact  with  the  naked  heart  of  men.  Their 
undisguised  passions  are  laid  OjDen ;  no  sanctimoni- 
ous pretensions  veil  their  real  designs  or  their  genu- 
ine characters,  as,  with  passions  roused  to  action, 
excited  by  great  temptation  or  maddened  by  real 
or  fancied  injury,  they  pour  their  tale  of  wrong  into 
the  ears  of  their  legal  "confessor."  Then  the  law- 
yer has  his  mission  to  perform,  also,  as  a  "  teacher  of 
morals  and  religion."  He  has  many  a  golden  op- 
portunity to  make  an  impression  on  the  character 
of  a  client  which  time  cannot  efface.  By  a  word  or 
look,  the  majesty  of  a  noble  Christian  character  may 
be  revealed,  the  unworthy  impulse,  the  unhallowed 
intention  stand  rebuked,  and  be  perhaps  for  ever 
crushed. 

Fully  appreciating  the  advantages  of  the  legal 
profession,  Mr.  Harrington,  after  mature  deliberation, 
felt  himself  called  by  duty  to  the  ministry ;  and  hav- 
ing thus  made  his  choice,  he  entered  upon  the  study 
of  theology  under  the  direction  of  Rev.  George  Put- 
nam of  Roxbury,  continuing  his  school,  however,  at 
the  same  time,  until  the  last  year  of  his  theological 
course. 

In  the  autumn  of  1839,  he  was  sent  by  the  Amer- 
ican Unitarian  Association,  as  missionary,  to  Chi- 
cago, Illinois,  where  he  remained  until  the  following 
April.  At  that  time  he  returned  to  New  England  to 
solicit  funds  for  the  purpose  of  building  a  church. 
By  his  individual  exertions  he  raised  about  $2,500  ; 


32  MEMOIR. 

and  the  further  sum  of  about  $  2,000  being  contrib- 
uted by  citizens  of  Chicago,  the  enterprise  was  car- 
ried to  a  successful  issue ;  and  before  he  finally  with- 
drew from  that  place,  his  society  was  left  free  from 
debt.  In  September,  1840,  he  was  ordained  as  an 
evangelist  at  Federal  Street  Church,  Boston,  the 
sermon  on  that  occasion  being  preached  by  Rev.  Dr. 
Putnam.  In  October  of  the  same  year  he  returned 
to  Chicago,  as  pastor  of  the  "  First  Unitarian  Soci- 
ety "  of  that  city,  having  on  his  way  a  hair-breadth 
escape  from  shipwreck.  He  reached  Chicago  on 
Saturday,  the  last  day  of  October,  and  preached  his 
first  sermon  as  a  settled  clergyman  on  the  follow- 
ing Sunday.  There  he  first  met  Miss  Helen  E. 
Griswold,  to  whom  he  was  mamed  on  the  6th  of 
April,  1841.  Their  eldest,  and  only  surviving  child, 
Helen  Josephine,  was  born  in  February,  1842,  the 
two  sons  who  were  afterwards  born  to  them  having 
both  died  in  infancy. 

His  labors  were  not  confined  to  his  own  pulpit.  ■ 
In  the  summer  of  1841  he  was  the  first  to  preach  the 
doctrines  of  Unitarianism  at  Milwaukie,  Wisconsin. 
A  large  audience  attended  the  services,  and  from 
that  beginning  sprang  the  present  church  at  that 
place. 

He  received,  in  1842,  a  call  to  become  colleague 
with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Eliot  of  St.  Louis. 

At  Rockford,  Illinois,  he  planted  the  Unitarian 
church  in  1843,  where  he  passed  some  time,  preach- 
ing three  times  on  each  Sunday,  and  almost  every 
evening  in  the  week.  Six  months  after  his  depart- 
ure, a  friend  visiting  that  place  found  the  highest  en- 


MEMOIR.  33 

thusiasm  prevailing  among  the  people,  of  all  denom- 
inations, in  regard  to  his  power  and  eloquence  as  a 
preacher. 

In  the  spring  of  1844,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harrington 
left  Chicago  to  visit  their  Southern  and  Eastern 
friends,  and  on  the  journey  he  preached  for  several 
Sundays,  most  acceptably,  to  the  congregation  of  the 
Unitarian  church  in  Baltimore  (Rev.  Dr.  Burnap's). 
It  was  during  this  visit  that  he  formed  the  determi- 
nation to  resign  the  charge  of  his  parish  at  Chicago. 
This  movement  had  been  a  subject  of  deep  consid- 
eration with  him  for  a  long  time,  and  the  motives 
inducing  him  to  take  this  step  are  stated  in  the  fol- 
lowing letter  to  Edward  K.  Rogers,  Esq. 

"  Eoxbury,  June  21st,  1844. 

"  My  dear  Rogers  :  — 

"  After  long  deliberation,  and  great  anxiety,  I  have  come 
to  the  resolution,  which  I  have  sat  down  to  conimunicatc 
to  you.  This  resolution  is,  to  transfer  my  duties  from  the 
West  to  some  place  in  the  vicinity  of  my  own  home. 

"  The  pi'imary,  moving  inducement  to  this  step  is  the  pre- 
carious state  of  my  mother's  health,  unitc^l  to  a  condition 
of  family  affairs  which  make  my  presence  here  a  matter  of 
great  importance,  if  not  of  absolute  necessity. 

"  My  mother  is  now  considerably  better  than  she  has  been, 
and  is  rapidly  improving.  She  ascribes  her  restoration  to 
her  mental  tranquillity,  which  tranquillity  she  believes  to  be 
dependent  upon  the  companionship,  sympathy,  and  counsel 
and  support  of  her  children. 

"  For  anything  that  I  now  know  to  tlic  contrary,  my  re- 
moval from  Chicago  will  not  conduce  to  my  worldly  profit. 
I  have  no  place  in  view  where  1  may  be  established.     There 


34  MEMOIR. 

are  two  desirable  vacancies  in  the  neighborhood,  but  wheth- 
er or  not  it  will  be  my  fortune  to  fill  either  of  them, — 
whether  my  ministerial  services  will  be  desired  or  not  in 
either  place,  is  more  than  I  can  even  conjecture. 

"  I  need  not  say  to  you,  that  it  is  with  great  pain  that  I 
determine  upon  leaving  you  ;  —  not  that  I  was  ever  per- 
fectly contented  and  happy  in  Chicago ;  but  because  I  feel 
a  profound  interest  in  the  wellbeing  of  the  church  there  ;  — 
because  that  place  has  been  the  scene  of  some  active,  anx- 
ious labors  on  my  part,  and  because  a  fair  share  of  success 
has  crowned  my  work,  and  a  growing  and  substantial  re- 
ligious brotherhood  is  rising  up  to  reward  solicitude  and  toil. 
I  regret,  moreover,  to  leave  the  society  at  this  time,  be- 
cause it  is  a  period  of  critical  interest  in  the  Chicago 
church. 

"  But  it  may  all  be  well  that  I  should  leave  you,  —  it 
may  be  for  your  advantage  that  I  abandon  my  Western 
field  of  labor.  Some  of  you,  I  feel  assured,  will  mourn  my 
departure,  others  will  be  indifferent,  —  a  few  may  make  it 
matter  of  congratulation.  If  ministers  of  our  faith  were 
plenty,  and  were  willing  to  establish  themselves  in  those 
remote  fields  of  toil,  I  should  have  no  reason  to  despond 
for  you, — for  I  should  feel  that  another  incumbent  might 
do  you  much  greater  service  than  I  could.  But  our  minis- 
ters are  few,  and  those  who  would  be  effectual  among  you 
will,  I  fear,  be  reluctant  to  cultivate  so  remote  a  vineyard. 
We  will  not,  however,  despair  of  excellent  things  to  come. 

"  In  respect  to  my  own  experiences  among  you  I  wish 
to  speak  with  perfect  candor.  I  said  I  had  not  been  per- 
fectly happy  in  Chicago,  —  many  things  made  me  a  little 
uncomfortable, — but  the  chief  difficulty  lay  in  my  own 
breast,  —  I  never  could  fix  the  home  feeling  there,  —  and 
this  destitution  was  fatal  to  my  perfect  content.  I  could 
not  look  upon  myself  as  other  than  a  sojourner  there,  —  I 


MEMOIR.  35 

could  not  bear  to  buy  a  lot  in  the  cemetery,  because  I  was 
reluctant  to  entertain  the  thought  that  that  distant  territory 
was  to  be  my  perpetual  abode,  that  remote  soil  the  resting- 
place  for  my  bones. 

"  Why  did  I  feel  so  ?  I  can  hardly  say.  As  much  as 
anything,  the  mode  of  my  settlement  among  you  contributed 
to  this  feeling.  I  was  voted  in,  as  it  were,  from  year  to 
year.  Uncertainty  of  connection  was  written  on  the  very 
contract  of  alliance.  You  felt  not  permanently  connected 
with  me.  I  never  felt  the  real  sentiment  of  an  abiding  pas- 
toral relation.  The  terms  of  our  union  bore  the  stamp  of 
the  uncertain,  changeful  spirit  of  the  time  and  of  the  region 
and  of  the  community.  And  it  may  be  that  this  is  the  bet- 
ter way.  I  never  objected  to  it,  am  not  sure  that  I  did  not 
advise  it,  that  it  was  as  much  or  more  the  result  of  the 
want  of  the  home  feeling  of  which  I  have  spoken  as  the 
producer  of  it. 

"  The  7node  of  raising  the  salary  stamped  uncertainty 
on  all  things.  This  was  voluntarily  subscribed.  It  made 
me  feel  sadly  my  dependence.  It  seemed  to  place  me  on 
the  ground  of  perpetually  receiving  favors.  It  gave  me  no 
security,  no  stability  of  position,  and  matters  connected 
with  this  voluntary  contribution  often  occurred  that  affected 
me  painfully.  There  was  then  some  uncertainty  attending 
the  grants  from  the  East,  and,  all  together,  obstructed  a 
lodgment  of  the  home  feeling  in  my  heart.  I  have,  my 
dear  Rogers,  spoken  out  with  frankness,  and  with  a  sad 
and  tender  sentiment  toward  you  all.  I  know  that  you 
will  welcome  this  candor.  I  shall  return  in  three  or  four 
weeks,  shall  remain  in  Chicago  four,  five,  or  six  weeks,  as 

circumstances  may  direct,  and  then  bid  you  farewell 

"  With  affection, 

"Jos.  Harrington." 


36  MEMOIR. 

That  Mr.  Harrington  was  loved  and  respected  by 
those  most  intimate  with  him  at  Chicago,  that  he 
was  faithful  and  untiring  in  his  efforts  for  the  pros- 
perity of  his  society,  that  he  made  sacrifices  of  per- 
sonal comfort  for  their  sake,  that  he  labored  in  sea- 
son and  out  of  season,  that  he  succeeded  in  laying 
the  foundation  of  a  permanent  society  in  that  thriv- 
ing place,  where  tlnitarianism  was  little  known,  and 
yet  exceedingly  unpopular,  that  he  built  up  his  so- 
ciety and  relieved  it  from  a  debt  which  came  near 
overwhelming  it,  that  he  did  not  fail  to  awaken  that 
deep  and  growing  interest  in  religion,  which  alone 
could  satisfy  a  mind  and  heart  like  his,  are  facts  too 
plainly  appearing,  in  all  the  correspondence  between 
him  and  his  parish,  to  admit  of  a  question. 

When,  in  1840,  his  first  term  of  service  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close,  the  following,  among  other  resolu- 
tions, were  passed :  — 

"  Whereas,  the  term  of  service  of  the  Rev.  Joseph  Har- 
rington, Jr.  as  pastor  of  this  society  is  about  to  expire,  in 
view  of  which  he  has  expressed  his  intention  to  depart  from 
this  place  :  And  whereas  he  has  for  the  space  of  nearly  six 
months  discharged  his  ministerial  duties  to  the  entire  satis- 
faction of  every  member  of  the  society  :  Therefore, 

"  Resolved,  That  the  contemplated  departure  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Harrington  excites  in  us  the  most  unfeigned  regret,  and 
that  we  feel  called  upon  to  express  our  gratitude  for  his 
valuable  services,  our  sorrow  of  the  prospect  of  parting 
■with  him,  and  our  cordial  wishes  for  his  future  welfare. 

"  Resolved,  That  while  the  ministerial  labors  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Harrington  have  essentially  strengthened  the  cause  of 
Liberal  Christianity  in  this  city,  and   gone  far  to  build  up 


MEMOIR.  37 

and  promote  the  objects  of  this  society,  his  social  character 
has  justly  endeared  him  to  all  who  know  him,  without  re- 
gard to  sect  or  denomination,  but  more  especially  to  the 
members  of  this  religious  society. 

"  Resolved,  That  the  Rev.  Joseph  Harrington,  Jr.  be, 
and  he  is  hereby,  called  to  the  permanent  pastoral  charge 
of  the  First  Unitarian  Society  of  Chicago,  and  that  we  ear- 
nestly solicit  his  acceptance  of  this  call." 

On  his  return  from  the  East,  after  his  successful 
mission  on  behalf  of  his  society,  the  following  reso- 
lutions were  passed. 

"  Resolved,  That  this  society  gratefully  acknowledge  the 
kindness  of  the  several  clergymen  in  Massachusetts,  Rhode 
Island,  New  York,  Brooklyn,  and  Philadelphia,  who  so 
warmly  espoused  our  cause  and  tendered  the  use  of  their 
pulpits  to  our  pastor. 

"  Resolved,  That  this  society  entertain  the  liveliest  grati- 
tude to  their  worthy  and  respected  pastor,  the  Rev.  Joseph 
Harrington,  Jr.,  for  his  zealous,  laborious,  and  efficient  ex- 
ertions in  procuring  the  amount  necessary  for  the  comple- 
tion of  our  house  of  worship." 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  dated 
April  13th,  1842,  addressed  to  Rev.  Francis  Park- 
man  by  the  trustees  of  the  society. 

"  Notwithstanding  the  unexampled  distress  and  embar- 
rassments which  have  pervaded  this  community,  in  common 
with  others,  it  is  with  unfeigned  gratification  that  we  are 
able  to  state  that  our  society  has  been  slowly  but  steadily 
increasing,  that  our  church  is  acquiring  a  strength  beyond 
our  most  sanguine  expectations,  cheering  to  the  cause  of 
Christianity  and  its  friends.  But  notwithstanding  all  this, 
for  which  we  must  render  thanks  to  a  kind  Providence,  we 

4 


38  MEMOIR. 

deem  it  our  duty  to  set  before  you  the  great  pecuniary 
difficulties  with  which  we  are  struggling  and  for  which 
there  would  seem  to  be  no  relief  at  present.  The  sum 
guaranteed  to  our  worthy  pastor  for  the  current  year  is 
nine  hundred  dollars,  to  be  increased  to  ten  hundred  and 
forty  if  possible.  While  we  deeply  regret  that  any  contin- 
gency should  have  forced  us  to  decrease  his  salary,  we  sin- 
cerely trust  that  it  will  only  be  temporary.  He  has  secured 
our  gratitude  and  esteem  by  expressing  his  acquiescence 
in  this  measure,  and  by  consenting  to  remain  with  us,  not- 
withstanding the  many  advantageous  offers  he  has  received 
from  other  places.  Appreciating  as  we  do  the  spirit  of 
self-sacrifice  and  devotion  which  has  ever  guided  him,  we 
do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  he  will  be  seconded  by  all  friends 
of  the  cause  in  this  place.  We  are  fully  aware  that  the 
liberality  so  freely  bestowed  upon  us  for  past  years  gives 
us  but  little  or  no  claim  to  any  further  assistance,  but 
under  our  present  embarrassments  it  would  seem  that,  if 
ever  that  assistance  should  be  continued,  it  is  at  the  pres- 
ent time. 

"  Our  society  is  composed  mostly  of  young  men  of  little 
means,  struggling  with  adverse  circumstances.  They  have 
made  strenuous  efforts  to  sustain  our  church,  and  we  know 
they  will  continue  to  do  so  ;  they  have  willing  spirits,  but 
now  little  ability.  We  have  dwelt  on  this  matter,  wishing 
our  Eastern  friends  to  understand  clearly  our  present  situ- 
ation. For  the  future  we  have  the  most  earnest  hope.  It 
has  pleased  a  beneficent  God  to  crown  the  labors  of  our 
pastor  with  great  success.  The  doctrines  of  Christianity  as 
advanced  by  him  have  created  a  deep  religious  sentiment 
in  many.  Their  constant  attendance  and  strong  interest 
manifested  in  all  religious  subjects  cannot  but  be  gratifying 
results  to  him  who  has  so  earnestly  labored  for  us,  and 
cheering  to  all  friends  of  the  Gospel,  which  has  but  to  be 


MEMOIR.  3d 

widely  spread,  and  prejudices  and  oppositions,  which  are 
now  wearing  away,  will  soon  be  dissipated.  While  we 
have  ourselves  increased  in  numbers,  in  the  country  round 
about  us  an  equal  spirit  is  manifested." 

And  that  these  sentiments  of  affection  and  respect 
continued  in  full  force  to  the  last  is  shown  by  the 
following  letter,  among  numerous  similar  testimo- 
nials. 

"August  16th,  1844. 
"  Rev.  Joseph  Harrington  :  — 

"  Dear  Sir, —  At  a  meeting  of  the  members  of  the  First 
Unitarian  Society,  held  on  Saturday  evening,  the  10th  in- 
stant, a  unanimous  vote  was  passed  instructing  the  Trus- 
tees to  express  to  you,  in  behalf  of  the  meeting,  their 
deep  regret  that  circumstances  have  rendered  it  neces- 
sary for  you  to  remove  from  your  present  field  of  use- 
fulness, their  heavy  obligations  for  your  faithful  services, 
and  their  kindest  wishes  for  your  future  welfare  and  hap- 
piness. 

"  In  dissolving  your  pastoral  relations  with  this  society, 
we  feel  that  you  will,  like  ourselves,  experience  many  pain- 
ful emotions ;  we  also  feel  that  our  church  owes  its  present 
strength  and  great  promise  for  the  future  chiefly  to  your 
active  and  arduous  labors,  not  only  among  us,  but  among 
our  brethren  at  the  East,  and  that  our  obligations  to  you 
are  greatly  enhanced  by  the  many  discouragements  and 
privations  which  have  surrounded  you,  and  which  are  inci- 
dent to  a  new  countiy,  and  we  shall  look  back  with  feelings 
of  heartfelt  gratitude  and  pleasure  upon  your  sojourn  with 
us  and  your  faithful  labors  amid  so  many  trying  scenes. 
In  assuring  you,  in  conclusion,  of  the  hearty  wishes  of  the 
society  for  your  prosperity  and  happiness  wherever  your 
home  may  be,  we  feel  that  we  have  but  very  indifferently 


40  MEMOIR. 

discharged  the  duty  assigned  us,  in  expressing  the  kindly 
feelino-s  and  intentions  of  the  meeting. 

"  J.  H.  Hodgson, 
E.  K.  Rogers." 

Thus  ended  his  residence  at  Chicago.  He  retired 
with  sadness  from  a  place  never  wholly  congenial 
to  his  taste,  but  with  a  consciousness  that  he  had 
been  faithful  to  the  last.  Parting  with  many  sincere 
friends  and  true-hearted  Christians,  he  turned  his  re- 
luctant steps  towards  old  Massachusetts. 

After  a  short  period  of  repose,  he  was  invited  by 
several  prominent  friends  of  the  Unitarian  cause  in 
Boston,  among  whom  was  the  late  lamented  Henry 
H.  Fuller,  whose  hand  and  heart  were  ever  ready  for 
any  good  work,  to  take  measures  towards  establish- 
ing a  new  society  at  the  "  South  End."  He  labored 
zealously  and  effectually  in  this  cause ;  and  while 
thus  engaged,  he  was  applied  to  by  the  "  Benevolent 
Fraternity  of  Churches"  to  supply  the  pulpit  of  the 
Suffolk  Street  Chapel,  made  vacant  by  the  resigna- 
tion of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sargent.  He  engaged  to 
preach  for  them  one  year;  hoping  that,  within  that 
period,  the  new  society  would  have  accumulated  suf- 
ficient strength  to  become  permanently  organized. 
But  owing  to  circumstances  which  it  is  unnecessary 
to  detail,  it  was  found  impracticable  to  carry  this 
project  forward,  and  it  was  either  given  up,  or  the 
proposed  society  was  merged  in  some  other  con- 
gregation. The  committee  and  worshippers  at  the 
Suffolk  Street  Chapel  would  gladly  have  had  him 
remain  with  them  as  a  permanent  pastor,  but  he  pre- 
ferred a  different  field  of  labor. 


MEMOIR.  41 

During  the  winter  of  1844-45,  he  preached  two 
Sundays  at  Hartford,  Connecticut,  before  a  Uni- 
tarian society,  first  organized  in  July,  1844 ;  and  he 
was  urgently  requested  to  accept  a  call  from  them, 
but  declined  the  offer  at  that  time,  feeling  himself 
pledged  to  stand  by  the  "  South  End  "  enterprise, 
until  its  fate  was  finally  decided. 

In  April,  1845,  his  second  son  was  born,  again 
awakening  in  his  father's  heart  that  most  delicious 
of  all  earthly  dreams,  the  hope  to  leave  behind  him 
one  who  should  bear  his  name  to  posterity,  but  in 
one  short  month  this  hope  was  blasted. 

The  call  to  Hartford  was  unanimously  repeated 
after  his  engagement  at  SuflTolk  Street  had  termi- 
nated, and  it  was  accepted.  On  the  first  Sunday  of 
January,  1846,  he  preached  his  first  sermon  to  the 
congregation  as  his  own  people. 

To  detail  the  events  of  the  next  six  years  of  his 
Christian  ministry  is  much  easier  than  to  appreciate 
the  peculiar  difficulties  of  his  position.  His  was  not 
a  life  of  ease.  The  society  was  small  and  unpopular, 
surrounded  as  it  was  with  other  denominations  who 
would  naturally  look  with  extreme  aversion  on  the 
intruder.  He  felt,  from  the  beginning,  that  his  labors 
would  be  arduous  ;  and  while  he  hoped  for  the  best, 
he  never  participated  in  the  sanguine  expectations 
of  many  of  his  people. 

There  was  not  only  a  strong  prejudice  against  the 
doctrines  of  Unitarianism  at  Hartford,  but  a  decided 
disinclination  to  allow  their  apostle  to  be  admitted 
into  the  society  of  other  clergymen.  He  was  avoid- 
ed, publicly  and  privately,  by  some  ministers  of  the 


42  MEMOIR. 

Gospel,  who  carried  their  exclusive  feelings  further, 
perhaps,  than  they  would  have  done,  had  they  been 
better  acquainted  with  his  real  views,  or  with  the 
Christian  character  of  him  they  proscribed.  And 
although  he  was  occasionally  associated  with  them 
in  the  cause  of  education,  of  which  he  was  a  most 
active,  well-informed,  and  efficient  promoter,  yet 
there  were  some  who  could  never  lay  aside  their 
antipathy  against  one  who  rejected  the  doctrine 
of  the  Trinity.  Mr.  Harrington,  whose  soul  was 
large  enough  and  charitable  enough  to  embrace  in 
love  all  Christians  of  whatever  denomination,  and 
who  acknowledged  the  common  brotherhood  of  all 
mankind,  suffered  intensely  from  the  chilly  and  op- 
pressive atmosphere  of  religious  intolerance.  But 
to  the  general  rule  there  were  some  honorable  excep- 
tions, —  men  distinguished,  not  only  for  their  liberal- 
ity in  doctrine,  but  for  many  of  those  noble  qualities 
which  give  dignity  and  authority  to  the  clerical 
profession. 

It  is  but  an  act  of  justice  to  mention  the  names 
of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bushnell  and  the  Rev.  Thomas  Clark 
of  Christ's  Church ;  nor  should  the  late  lamented 
Gallaudet  be  forgotten,  —  a  firm  believer  in  the  "  Or- 
thodox "  faith,  but  an  advocate  of  freedom  of  opin- 
ion, and  one  whose  heart  beat  in  unison  with  that 
of  his  persecuted  friend  in  every  philanthropic  cause. 

Better  acquaintance  with  the  tone  of  Mr.  Har- 
rington's character,  his  blameless  life,  his  ardent 
labors  in  every  good  work,  finally  won  for  him  a 
more  friendly  feeling,  and  melted  away  something 
of  that  icy  coldness  which  chilled  and.  saddened  the 
first  years  of  his  life  at  Hartford. 


MEMOIR.  43 

But  soon  another  trial  awaited  him.  It  became 
evident  that  the  church  in  which  he  preached  at 
Hartford  must  be  sold,  unless  the  debt  of  the  society 
could  be  liquidated.  This  his  people  were  wholly 
unable  to  do,  finding  quite  enough  to  contend  with 
in  discharging  their  ordinary  expenses.  Bitter  ex- 
perience in  his  former  effort  to  beg  for  the  church  in 
Chicago  had  taught  him  how  irksome,  how  humili- 
ating, how  repulsive  to  all  his  tastes  and  sensibil- 
ities, would  be  the  task  of  soliciting  in  person  the 
aid  which  his  people  demanded. 

He  felt  that  he  could  not  propose  this  course ;  but 
he  received  from  Dr.  Gannett  an  urgent  letter,  put- 
ting it  to  his  conscience.  "  You  are,"  he  writes, 
"  the  only  man  who  can  save  the  churchJ''  And  as 
he  revolved  the  subject  in  his  own  mind,  it  so  ap- 
peared to  him,  and  he  felt,  that,  however  distasteful, 
repulsive,  was  the  effort,  he  had  no  right  to  listen  to 
suggestions  of  personal  sensitiveness  or  individual 
scruples.  Conscience  pointed  the  way ;  he  had  but 
to  go  forward.  Home,  ease,  health,  and  as  it  proved, 
life  itself,  were  sacrificed  at  last.  He  entered  with 
characteristic  resolution  upon  the  disheartening  work, 
—  desperate  it  might  almost  be  called,  for  his  society 
had  small  claims,  as  he  too  well  knew,  upon  the 
sympathies  of  others,  and  he  had  already  gleaned  the 
field  for  his  flock  at  Chicago. 

Many  will  long  remember  the  Christian  manner 
in  which  he  fulfilled  his  wearisome  task,  and  the 
manly  appeal  which  won  its  way  to  all  hearts. 

While  on  this  mission,  his  power  as  a  preacher 
was  first   revealed  to  his  brethern  in  the  ministry. 


44  MEMOIR. 

He  gained  many  to  his  cause,  because  it  was  his 
cause,  and  his  whole  heart  was  in  it.  Generous  men, 
whose  names  it  would  not  be  delicate  to  reveal, 
came  forward  to  the  rescue  of  the  church  at  Hart- 
ford, and  by  their  sympathy  threw  an  occasional  ray 
of  sunshine  over  the  dark  and  lonely  hours  of  heart- 
sickness  he  suffered  while  engaged  in  this  uncon- 
genial work.  No  eye  but  the  All-seeing  fell  upon 
the  discouraging  struggles  he  went  through,  none 
but  He  could  see  the  self-denial  of  his  faithful  ser- 
vant, who,  with  His  blessing,  was  successful,  and 
brought  his  church  triumphantly  out  of  all  its 
troubles.  And  the  grateful  thanks  of  his  people 
threw  back  bright,  golden  tints  over  the  rough  and 
thorny  path  he  had  travelled. 

Through  all  these  years  of  his  residence  in  Hart- 
ford, Mr.  Harrington  was  earnestly  engaged  in  ad- 
vancing the  cause  of  popular  education,  and  his 
labors  were  justly  appreciated.  "  He  was  appointed, 
during  this  period.  Chairman  of  the  Board  of  Visit- 
ors of  the  Public  Schools,  in  the  success  of  which  he 
took  a  lively  interest ;  and  he  continued  to  fill  this 
office,  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  all  parties,  till  he 
left  the  city." 

He  labored  continually  for  the  good  of  others; 
and  that  he  also  had  his  own  private  perplexi- 
ties and  difficulties,  the  following  extract  from  a 
record,  never  intended  for  publication,  will  plainly 
show. 

"  During  all  this  time,  the  expenses  of  his  household 
were  reduced  to  the  least  possible  outlay  consistent  with  his 
position ;  his  library  received  no  additions  except  from  the 


MEMOIR.  45 

occasional  generosity  of  a  friend  ;  he  allowed  himself  no 
journeys,  nor  even  the  relief  of  exchanges,  because  he  felt 
that  he  had  no  right  to  expend  money  on  himself.  Passion- 
ately fond  of  music,  he  refrained  from  attending  concerts, 
and,  in  short,  denied  himself  every  enjoyment  which  cost 
money,  and  all  luxuries  and  comforts,  till  he  could  feel  that 
they  might  be  conscientiously  indulged  in.  Always  scru- 
pulously neat  in  his  person,  his  clothes  were  nevertheless 
often  threadbare.  Till  his  debts  were  paid,  he  said  he  must 
consent  to  '  look  poor.' 

"He  never  allowed  a  laborer  to  call  twice  for  his  pay. 
One  morning  he  was  discussing,  at  home,  the  economical 
expenditure  of  a  small  sum  of  money,  which  was  all  he 
then  had,  when  a  man  called  to  whom  the  greater  propor- 
tion was  due  for  labor  performed  the  previous  week.  On 
the  spur  of  the  moment,'  it  was  suggested  that  he  might 
call  again  the  next  week,  when  the  quarter's  salary  would 
be  paid,  but  Mr.  Harrington  unhesitatingly  replied,  '  No, 
never  do  that ;  if  any  suffer,  let  it  be  ourselves.'  " 

All  old  debts,  in  some  instances  forgotten  by  the 
creditors  themselves,  were  one  by  one  wiped  away, 
principal  and  interest. 

Thus  he  lived,  at  that  time,  isolated  from  all  his 
old  friends,  excluded  from  the  sympathy  of  most  of 
his  fellow-clergymen,  struggling  with  limited  means, 
compelled  to  see  his  beloved  wife  deprived  of  the 
luxuries  and  even  the  comforts  to  which  she  had 
been  accustomed,  giving  up,  not  only  the  indulgences 
of  refined  taste,  but  even  the  books  which  he  most 
longed  for;  heroically  denying  himself  every  gratifica- 
tion for  the  sole  purpose  of  discharging  his  debts, 
and  doing  his  duty  as  a  Christian  servant  of  God ; 
and  all  this  with  perfect  submission,  without  com- 


46  MEMOIR. 

plaint  or  murmur,  without  opening  his  burdened 
heart  to  his  most  intimate  friends,  for  fear  of  distress- 
ing them.  Is  not  this  heroism  higher  than  that 
which  conquers  a  thousand  cities? 

It  was  early  in  March,  1852,  when  it  seemed  cer- 
tain that  his  efforts  to  save  the  church  at  Hartford 
would  be  successful,  and  but  little  more  remained  to 
be  done,  that  he  received  the  first  intimation  of  a 
call  to  San  Francisco.  He  replied  that  he  could 
take  no  subject  into  consideration  until  he  had  fin- 
ished the  work  upon  which  he  was  engaged.  This 
was  done  in  the  following  May ;  but  as  soon  as  he 
came  to  the  quiet  and  confinement  of  his  own  study, 
he  began  to  feel  the  effect  of  his  exertions,  and  from 
that  period  he  dated  the  disease,  which,  gradually  de- 
veloping, aggravated  by  various  causes,  terminated 
his  earthly  career.  He  was  never  well,  never  himself 
again. 

When  the  proposition  to  go  to  California  came 
before  him  for  definite  consideration,  and  the  novelty 
of  the  idea  wore  off  with  familiarity,  his  desire  was 
to  determine  what  he  ought  to  do.  He  felt  that 
it  was  not  his  duty  to  remain  permanently  in 
Hartford,  —  he  had  done  his  utmost  for  this  parish  ; 
and  his  conviction  was,  that  he  was  called  to  do 
more  good  elsewhere  than  he  could  accomplish  in 
that  narrow  sphere. 

He  pondered  long  before  he  decided  on  this  great 
move,  and  his  will  seemed  to  repose  entirely  on  the 
will  of  God  respecting  it.  His  deliberation  ended  in 
the  resolve  to  devote  himself,  with  all  the  energy  of 
his  being,  to  the  work  of  the  Gospel  in  this  inspiring 


MEMOIR.  47 

field.  While  passing  a  few  days  in  New  York  and 
Brooklyn,  on  an  exchange,  in  June,  he  took  a  severe 
cold,  from  the  effects  of  which  he  suffered  acutely, 
being  under  constant  medical  treatment  from  that 
time  till  he  left  for  San  Francisco.  Few  of  his  pa- 
rishioners knew  how  ill  he  was  during  the  last  three 
weeks  of  his  stay  in  Hartford,  having,  for  two  Sun- 
days previous  to  the  last,  only  left  his  bed  to  perform 
public  services,  returning  to  it  as  soon  as  they  were 
over.  The  exertion  and  anxiety  consequent  upon  re- 
moval, packing  furniture,  &c.,  were  exceedingly  ex- 
hausting to  him  ;  but  as  he  was  enjoined  in  the  call 
to  California  to  make  as  much  haste  as  possible,  he 
allowed  himself  no  rest  in  preparation  for  the  steamer 
of  the  20th  of  July.  His  physician  said  that  medi- 
cine was  of  little  avail  while  his  mind  and  his  time 
were  so  occupied,  but  recommended  the  sea  voyage, 
and  thought  that  when  once  "  off  soundings "  he 
would  be  well  again. 

His  last  sermon  was  commenced  late  on  Saturday 
evening,  after  a  week  of  incessant  toil ;  and,  when 
finished,  he  was  so  exhausted  by  the  effort  that  noth- 
ing but  the  excitement  of  the  occasion  enabled  him 
to  deliver  it.  "  His  deathly  paleness  was  remarked 
by  many,  who,  ignorant  of  what  he  had  gone 
through,  attributed  it  wholly  to  his  feelings  at  part- 
ing with  his  people.  This  parting,  no  doubt,  tended 
to  depress  him,  but  he  was  fitter  at  that  moment  for 
the  seclusion  of  a  sick  chamber  than  for  the  services 
of  the  pulpit.  His  discourse  was,  however,  delivered 
with  more  than  his  usual  energy,  and  to  a  crowded 
house,  many  having  come  then  who  never  entered 


48  MEMOIR. 

the  church  before.  Expressions  of  regret  at  his  leav- 
ing came  alike  from  all  denominations,  and  to  his 
people  the  occasion  was  one  of  the  deepest  sadness 
and  bereavement." 

The  strong  feeling  of  respect  and  attachment  en- 
tertained towards  their  pastor  was  manifested  in 
public  and  private.  The  following  resolutions  were 
unanimously  adopted  and  placed  on  the  records  of 
the  church. 

"  Whereas,  the  Rev,  Joseph  Harrington  has  tendered  his 
resignation  of  the  pastoral  charge  of  the  First  Unitarian 
Congregational  Society  of  Hartford  :  And  whereas,  its  ac- 
ceptance by  the  society  is  deemed  a  suitable  occasion  for 
expressing  the  fraternal  and  respectful  regard  cherished  by 
us  towards  him  :    Therefore, 

"  Resolved,  That  in  his  connection  with  us,  since  the  com- 
pletion of  the  church,  he  has  attracted  to  himself  the  full 
measure  of  our  confidence,  esteem,  and  friendship. 

"  Resolved,  That  while  his  extensive  acquirements  and 
eminent  abilities  will  amply  commend  him  to  all  that  frater- 
nize with  us  in  religious  sentiment,  we  shall  take  pleasure 
in  bearing  record  of  him  as  a  gentleman  estimable  and  ex- 
emplary in  all  the  walks  of  social  life,  as  a  minister  of  supe- 
rior endowments  and  attainments,  as  a  religious  teacher  of 
reliable  and  acceptable  Christian  doctrine,  and  as  a  pastor 
assiduous,  affectionate,  and  faithful  in  the  discharge  of  his 
various  duties. 

"  Resolved,  That  while  this  society  reluctantly  accepts 
the  resignation  of  Mr.  Harrington,  it  cherishes  unwavering 
faith  in  a  prosperous  future,  and  at  the  same  time  it  cannot 
but  hope  that  the  sphere  of  the  usefulness  of  Mr.  Harring- 
ton will  be  extended  by  his  proposed  withdrawal  to  a  new 
field  of  labor. 


MEMOIR.  49 

"  Resolved,  That  we  cordially  unite  our  best  wishes  for 
his  future  success  and  happiness,  and  fervently  invoke 
Heaven  to  shower  upon  him  its  choicest  blessings. 

"  Resoloed,  That  the  secretary  transmit  a  copy  of  the  fore- 
going resolutions  to  Mr.  Harrington,  and  cause  the  same  to 
be  published  in  the  daily  papers  of  this  city." 

The  following  extracts  from  a  sermon  preached 
after  the  decease  of  Mr.  Harrington,  by  Rev.  Charles 
Brooks,  before  the  Hartford  society,  give  an  interest- 
ing account  of  him  as  a  minister. 

"  In  a  community  where  a  profound  philosophy  of  human 
life,  a  divine  right  of  mental  freedom,  and  where  Christian 
hopes  of  a  true  millennial  glory  are  as  common  as  household 
words,  Mr.  Harrington  was  born  and  educated.  He  breathed 
these  principles  wherever  he  went,  and  they  made  him  what 
he  was,  and  they  are  calculated  to  make  such  persons. 
They  present  no  obstructions  to  the  utmost  expanse  of  mind 
and  heart.  Both  intellect  and  affection  develop  under  their 
influence  as  naturally  as  the  petals  of  the  rose  unfold  and  ex- 
pand beneath  the  sunshine  and  the  dew.  I  have  stated 
these  facts  and  made  these  remarks,  because  they  furnish 
the  only  proper  position  from  which  the  taste,  opinions,  and 
character  of  our  friend  can  be  viewed. 

"  With  these  truths  before  us,  let  us  look  at  some  of  the 
salient  features  of  his  mind  and  heart. 

"  You  remember  his  zeal  for  the  improvement  of  com- 
mon schools,  and  the  extension  of  education.  You  can 
now  see  that  he  would  have  been  a  traitor  to  his  own  train- 
ing and  his  own  faith  if  he  had  folded  his  arms  in  idleness 
and  unconcern.  All  voices  in  your  city,  —  the  public  pa- 
pers and  your  valedictory  resolutions  (unanimously  voted  in 
your  parish  meeting),  all  unite  in  saying  that  he  conferred 
permanent  benefits  on  the  schools,  by  elevating  the  standard 
5 


50  MEMOIR. 

of  teaching  and  multiplying  the  means  of  improvement. 
That  his  heart  was  in  the  work,  is  proved  by  the  fact  that 
the  children  delighted  to  see  his  pleasant  face,  and  hear  his 
rich,  musical  voice  in  their  school-rooms.  A  bad  man  can- 
not win  the  permanent  love  of  children. 

"  You  remember  the  affluence  of  his  conversation 
during  his  parochial  visits.  He  was  a  genial  spirit,  and 
loved  to  talk.  So  remarkable  was  his  eloquence  in  social 
debate,  that  he  would  at  times  throw  over  his  thoughts  a 
drapery  of  illustration  as  glorious  as  the  flush  of  morning 
on  the  western  hills.  Commanding  a  wide  compass  of 
phrase,  his  extemporaneous  sermons  had  a  freshness  and 
electricity  which  touched  all  hearts.  It  is  said  that  '  he 
never  missed  the  right  word.'  This  is  no  small  praise  in 
our  community,  where  we  daily  witness  such  random  heap- 
ing of  turgid  epithets.  Few  can  always  command  the 
word  that  geometrically  covers  the  idea.  Many  of  us,  in 
pensive  mortification,  are  obliged  to  carry  our  diamonds  in 
broken  baskets. 

"  He  was  a  man  of  affairs,  and  could  manage  business 
well.  With  this  part  of  his  character,  I  became  personally 
acquainted  during  his  mission  to  Massachusetts,  last  winter, 
to  gather  funds  for  liquidating  your  parish  debt.  In  this,  he 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  man  of  good  judgment,  sterling  integ- 
rity, and  indomitable  perseverance.  He  was  not  for  look- 
ing back,  when  the  journey  lies  forward.  Throughout  that 
arduous  and  unwelcome  service  he  bore  himself  like  a 
scholar,  like  a  gentleman,  and  like  a  Christian.  He  knew 
that  he  was  laboring  for  a  people  who  could  appreciate  his 
efforts.  Full  to  overflowing  with  his  subject,  I  marked  the 
courteous  gravity  and  gentle  patience  with  which  he  repeated 
the  details,  whenever  requested.  His  public  '  Appeal ' 
showed  his  tact ;  it  was  mercantile  and  short,  just  the  two 
qualities  to  win  our  '  merchant  princes.'     Your  gratitude  to 


MEMOIR.  61 

him  I  know  is  deep  and  hearty.  By  his  success,  he  has 
connected  his  name  for  ever  with  your  church,  and  you  will 
rejoice  to  transmit  it  in  your  permanent  records. 

"  Not  devoted  to  metaphysics,  he  preferred  to  preach 
about  the  common  ideas  and  pursuits,  the  common  wants 
and  hopes  of  man.  As  he  was  gifted  in  understanding  the 
common  affairs  of  the  world,  and  discerning  the  ruling  mo- 
tives of  men,  there  were  few  who  could  preach  better  on 
this  text :  '  Thou  art  the  man  ! '  With  sin,  in  every  form, 
he  held  no  parley,  made  no  compromise.  You  can  testify 
to  his  fidelity. 

'  Thou  knowest  how  bland  with  years  his  wisdom  grew, 
And  with  what  phrases,  steeped  in  love, 
He  sheathed  the  sharpness  of  rebuke.' 

"  Knowing  how  the  masses  think  and  feel,  he  could  look 
from  their  angle,  and  therefore  his  appeals  were  full  of  prac- 
tical philosophy  and  common  sense.  If  he  had  faults  of 
style,  they  arose  from  having  too  many  words  and  too 
many  rhetorical  figures. 

"  As  an  expounder  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures,  he  was  cau- 
tious and  faithful,  bringing  to  his  aid  all  the  light  he  could 
find  in  the  wide  circle  of  differing  commentators,  believing 
that  others  were  as  sincere  as  himself,  and  perhaps  more 
learned.  He  was  a  prayerful  student  of  the  Book  of  books. 
His  reverence  for  it  prevented  him  from  touching  the  harp 
of  the  Prophet  with  that  unholy  violence  which  snaps  its 
chords.  He  left  the  place  of  his  birth,  where  the  conflict 
about  doctrine  had  nearly  ceased,  and  came  here,  where  it 
has  just  begun.  He  brough  twith  him  the  light  of  truth, 
sanctified  by  the  warmth  of  love.  The  weapons  of  his 
warfare  were  Scripture  and  argument,  7iever  ridicule  or  de- 
nunciation. He  did  not  believe  that  slander  or  fagots  have 
the  essence  of  persuasion  in  them.     His  ruling  aim  was  to 


52  MEMOIR. 

express  the  whole  will  of  God,  and  declare  the  whole  Gos- 
pel of  Christ,  regardless  of  human  creeds  or  worldly  suc- 
cess. He  went  with  his  whole  soul  for  the  whole  Bible,  and 
that  made  him  higher  and  deeper  and  broader  than  all  sects. 
He  was 

'  That  freeman  whom  the  Truth  makes  free.' 

"  You  will  long  remember  his  extraordinary  power  in 
reading  the  Sacred  Scriptures.  So  thoroughly  did  he  ap- 
prehend their  meaning,  that  his  reading  of  them  had  the 
value  of  a  commentary.  His  prayers,  too,  —  how  varied  ! 
how  fervent !  how  humble  !  In  the  administration  of  the 
sacred  ordinances,  he  adhered  to  the  simplicity  there  is  in 
Christ,  and  left  the  complexity  there  is  in  men. 

"  In  his  parochial  duties,  he  was  genial  at  the  marriage 
feast,  tender  in  the  chamber  of  sickness,  and  sympathizing 
in  the  house  of  sorrow.  His  religion  could  be  better  de- 
fined by  the  word  love,  than  justice. 

"  Perhaps  his  peculiarity  was  his  wholeness.  He  seemed 
a  fortunate  blending  of  all  the  forces,  physical,  intellectual, 
and  moral.  There  were  none  of  those  ragged  projections 
which  mar  symmetry.  The  intellect,  as  well  as  the  pas- 
sions, was  subjected  to  conscience,  and  conscience  was  en- 
throned as  God's  representative  in  human  nature.  This 
favorable  adjustment  of  parts  and  harmonious  action  of 
powers  made  his  judgments  seem  to  others  like  common 
sense  and  natural  truth.  When  a  man  thus  fits  the  world, 
and  the  world  fits  him,  his  decisions  may  be  relied  on. 

"  We  do  not  suppose  that  he  was  infallible,  or  that  he  was 
without  the  imperfections  which  may  grow  out  of  a  deci- 
sive, hopeful,  and  masculine  character.  Shadows  are  a 
consequence  of  sunshine. 

"  There  are  several  pleasing  traits  on  which  I  have  not 
time  to  speak,  and  there  are  many  ties  which  bound  you  to 
him  which  your  hearts  can  feel  better  than  I  can  describe. 
I  know  you  will  do  justice  to  both. 


MEMOIR.  53 

"  We  come,  then,  to  this  conclusion  :  that  he  was  a  wise 
man,  a  good  scholar,  a  warm  friend,  a  safe  counsellor,  an 
eloquent  preacher,  a  faithful  minister,  and  a  devout  Chris- 
tian. The  conscientious  convictions  of  such  a  man,  result- 
ing from  mature  examination,  are  entitled  to  respect.  Let 
us  glance  at  a  few  of  them. 

"  He  was  a  conservative,  and  not  fond  of  aeronautic  ex- 
peditions in  theology.  In  essentials,  he  was  for  unity,  in 
non-essentials,  for  liberty,  and  in  all,  for  charity.  Rejecting 
all  creeds  of  human  device,  he  accepted  the  Bible,  the 
whole  Bible,  and  nothing  but  the  Bible,  as  his  creed.  Ac- 
cordingly, he  believed  that  there  is  one  God,  the  Father. 
That  the  government  of  this  world,  and  all  worlds,  is  pater- 
nal, and  that  it  is  as  just  for  God  to  be  merciful  as  it  is  mer- 
ciful for  him  to  be  just.  He  believed  in  Jesus  Christ  as  the 
promised  Messiah,  the  one  Mediator  between  God  and  man, 
the  divine  Teacher,  the  all-sufficient  Saviour,  the  visible  Rep- 
resentative of  God,  who  is  invisible.  He  believed  that 
every  child  is  born  pure,  and  that  Christ  said  what  was  true 
when  he  declared  that  '  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  Heav- 
en.' Moreover,  that  the  child,  under  proper  Christian  nur- 
ture, will  grow  up  a  Christian,  and  that  the  development  of 
the  moral  character  and  spiritual  life  will  be  as  natural  as 
the  growth  of  the  plant,  or  the  progress  of  the  seasons.  It 
would  obey  a  great  law  of  nature.  He  believed  that  man 
is  philosophically  and  morally  free,  —  free  to  think,  free  to 
will,  free  to  act,  —  and  is  therefore  responsible  ;  that  he  is 
placed  in  this  world  at  school,  schooling  for  eternity,  and 
therefore  has  the  making  of  his  own  character,  and  that  his 
character  here  determines  his  condition  hereafter.  He  be- 
lieved that  error  is  mortal,  and  cannot  always  live  ;  truth 
immortal,  and  can  never  die.  He  believed  that  God's  grace 
is  unpurchased  and  free  ;  that  the  terms  of  pardon  and  re- 
demption are  offered,  '  without  money  and  without  price,' 
5* 


54  MEMOIR. 

to  every  sinner  ;  that  heaven  is  open  to  every  holy  and  pi- 
ous mind  ;  that  God  will  give  his  sanctifying  spirit  to  all 
who  truly  seek  it,  and  will  at  last  render  to  every  man  ac- 
cording to  his  deeds. 

"  With  such  a  faith,  and  the  character  that  such  a  faith 
makes,  no  wonder  that  he  was  selected  as  the  fit  expounder 
of  enlightened  and  rational  Christianity  to  the  wide-awake, 
independent,  and  exposed  Unitarians  of  San  Francisco. 
He  was  emphatically  the  man  for  that  important  mission." 

Mr.  Harrington  left  Hartford  on  the  14th  of  July 
1852,  to  visit  his  friends  in  Roxbury  before  setting 
out  for  California ;  and  on  the  20th,  he,  with  his 
wife  and  daughter,  took  passage  from  New  York  in 
the  steamer  Illinois  for  Aspinwall.  During  the  voy- 
age, he  suffered  much  from  debility,  but  attributed  it 
to  the  effects  of  sea-sickness.  Although  there  was 
no  rough  weather,  he  could  sit  up  but  little,  and  was 
ill-fitted  to  endure  the  hardships  of  the  route  across 
the  Isthmus  to  Panama.  An  extract  from  Mrs.  Har- 
rington's account  of  the  journey  says  :  — 

"  Words  have  no  meaning  when  attempting  to  describe 
our  three  days'  travel  from  Aspinwall  to  Panama.  The  de- 
bilitating atmosphere,  wretched,  dirty  food,  and  miserable 
lodgings,  added  to  the  excessive  fatigue,  making  it  almost 
unendurable  for  persons  in  full  health  and  strength.  We 
rode  on  mules  from  Cruces  to  Panama,  a  distance  of  twenty 
or  twenty-five  miles.  We  started  at  seven,  A.  M.,  and  rode, 
with  only  once  dismounting,  till  half  past  nine,  P.  M.  The 
road  was  in  its  worst  state,  and  Mr.  Harrington's  mule,  in 
struggling  through  the  mud,  twice  broke  the  girths  and 
threw  him  off".  During  the  first  three  hours  the  rain  fell  in 
such  torrents  as  can  only  be  seen  in  tropical  climates,  and 


MEMOIR.  »  55 

\vc  were,  of  course,  thoroughly  drenched.  Arriving  at  Pan- 
ama, we  were  put,  ten  or  twelve  (ladies  and  gentlemen  in- 
discriminately), into  one  room,  with  dirty  cots  to  lie  on,  and 
no  means  of  washing  or  of  changing  our  clothes." 

The  steamer  in  which  their  passages  for  San 
Francisco  had  been  engaged  having  been  jfilled  up 
with  United  States  troops,  they  were  compelled  to 
wait  six  days  at  Panama. 

Mr.  Harrington  had  been  assured,  before  leaving 
New  York,  by  persons  on  whose  statements  he  had 
reason  to  place  implicit  reliance,  that  the  fever  which 
was  said  to  prevail  at  that  time  on  the  Isthmus  was 
confined  almost  exclusively  to  low  and  dissipated 
travellers  and  the  laborers  on  the  railroad,  and  that, 
with  proper  caution,  there  was  no  more  danger  then 
than  at  any  other  season.  This  statement  was  in 
some  degree  erroneous,  and  as  it  proved,  it  was  im- 
possible to  guard  against  exposure  and  over-fatigue. 

There  were  many  cases  of  Panama  fever  on  the 
voyage  to  San  Francisco  ;  and  though  none  of  these 
proved  fatal  among  the  cabin  passengers,  there  were, 
from  this  and  other  diseases,  a  number  of  deaths 
during  the  passage.  At  five  of  the  burials  at  sea 
Mr.  Harrington  officiated,  and  he  exerted  himself  to 
the  utmost  to  console  the  bereaved,  who  in  several 
instances  were  left  entirely  alone  in  the  world. 

On  the  last  Sunday  of  the  voyage  he  was  for  the 
first  time  able  to  preach.  His  sermon,  which  was 
extempore,  was  on  the  "  God-given  power  of  the 
human  will  for  self-discipline." 

They  reached  San  Francisco  on  the  27th  of  Au- 
gust, where  they  found  kind  friends  ready  to  greet 


56  MEMOIR. 

them  and  welcome  them  heartily  to  their  new 
home. 

On  the  following  Sunday  he  preached  in  the 
United  States  District  Court  Room,  to  a  large  num- 
ber of  persons.  This  was  a  most  delightful  surprise 
to  him.  Accustomed  to  small  beginnings,  he  had 
not  expected  so  large  a  congregation ;  and  in  the 
course  of  the  week  he  was  gratified  to  learn  that  he 
was  wholly  acceptable  in  his  new  pulpit. 

The  next  Sunday,  the  Court  Room  was  so  crowd- 
ed that  many  went  away,  unable  to  procure  seats. 
A  large  hall  was  afterwards  engaged  as  a  place  of 
worship ;  and  although  it  was  feared  that  it  would 
prove  too  large,  the  first  service  determined  that  even 
this  would  not  comfortably  seat  all  who  came.  Here 
Mr.  Harrington  preached  three  Sundays,  occupying 
the  intervening  weeks  in  making  acquaintances 
among  his  new  society,  and  also  among  other  de- 
nominations. In  that  freer,  broader  atmosphere, 
where  the  narrow  bonds  of  sectarianism  loose  their 
hold,  the  cordial  hand  of  brotherhood  was  extended 
to  him  by  ministers  of  differing  theological  opinions, 
giving  him,  for  the  first  time  since  his  entrance  into 
the  ministry,  the  happiness  of  unrestrained  associa- 
tion with  the  clergy. 

The  Building  Committee  now  became  much  in- 
terested in  the  project  for  a  new  church,  and  Mr.  Har- 
rington entered  warmly  into  their  plans.  But  his 
health  failed  him,  and  after  struggling  manfully 
against  the  evil  which  had  been  long  threatening 
him,  he  was  obliged  to  yield  to  the  diseases  whose 
combined  force  he  could  not  resist. 


MEMOIR.  57 

But  the  account  of  his  ilhiess  can  be  best  given  in 
the  words  of  her  whose  privilege  it  was,  after  a 
happy  union  of  nearly  eleven  years,  enriched  by  an 
ever-increasing  store  of  mutual  love  and  respect,  to 
stand  by  his  bedside,  adnriinistering  and  receiving 
comfort  to  the  last. 

"  From  the  moment  of  arrival,  he  was  in  health  less  and 
less  himself.  He  had  one  or  two  attacks  of  slight  ilhiess, 
commencing  with  chills,  which  confined  him  to  his  bed  for 
a  day  or  two  at  a  time  ;  and  his  friends  and  physician  said 
that  he  was  passing  through  an  acclimating  process,  and 
that  it  might  be  a  month  or  two  before  he  was  quite  restored. 
The  fact  that  almost  every  one  goes  through  acclimation 
after  arrival,  more  or  less  severe,  was  the  reason  that  his 
symptoms  did  not  cause  more  alarm. 

"About  the  first  of  October  his  debility  seemed  to  increase  ; 
a  short  walk  fatigued  him  so  much,  that  he  was  obliged  to 
lie  down  after  it,  and  all  exercise  was  disagreeable  to  him. 
At  last  he  complained  of  constant  chilliness,  and  one  even- 
ing, after  returning  from  a  call,  he  went  to  bed  shivering 
violently.  A  burning  fever  ensued,  accompanied  by  severe 
pains  in  the  limbs  and  back,  and  intense  headache.  His 
physician  pronounced  his  disease  Panama  fever,  but  without 
aggravated  symptoms.  On  the  third  day  he  was  seized 
with  congestion  of  the  heart,  which  resulted  in  paralysis, 
from  the  waist  down.  His  prostration  was  then  so  great, 
that  he  could  not  turn  his  head  or  raise  his  hand  ;  but 
from  that  time  he  suffered  no  severe  pain. 

"  After  the  first  night  of  this  excessive  weakness,  he  first 
spoke  to  me,  with  great  solemnity,  of  the  possibility  of  not 
recovering,  calmly  expressing  his  wishes  with  respect  to 
certain  business  matters,  in  that  event.  I  strove  to  do 
away  with  such  thoughts,  as  neither  myself  nor  the  physi- 


58  MEMOIR. 

cian  had  any  apprehensions  at  that  time  as  to  the  result  of 
his  illness  ;  but  his  seriousness  was  not  changed,  and  I  now 
believe  that  from  that  time  his  conviction  was,  that  his  end 
was  at  hand.  He  seemed  to  see  at  a  glance  through  the 
efforts  at  lively  conversation  by  his  physicians,  in  order  to 
induce  him  to  relinquish  the  idea  of  his  danger ;  and  one 
day,  in  particular,  after  one  of  the  consulting  physicians 
had  been  telling  the  news,  and  giving  an  animated  descrip- 
tion of  late  occurrences,  which  he  thought  might  engage 
his  attention,  he  turned  to  me  and  remarked  :  '  Dr.  Merritt's 
motto  is.  Encouragement.'  He  watched  his  own  symptoms 
closely,  counted  his  own  pulse,  watched  the  effect  of  all 
medicines,  and  knew  from  hour  to  hour  the  slightest  change 
in  his  case,  as  well  as  if  he  had  been  a  physician.  Through- 
out his  entire  illness  his  mind  was  appai'ently  as  clear  and 
active  as  when  in  health. 

"  He  seemed  utterly  at  rest  in  spirit,  reposing  unhesitat- 
ingly in  God's  will.  I  once  asked  him  if  he  regretted  in 
any  event  that  he  had  come  to  California.  He  replied, '  No, 
—  the  call  was  from  God  ;  I  did  my  duty  ;  I  would  not  but 
have  come.'  Perfect  calmness  possessed  him,  —  ever 
grateful  for  favorable  symptoms,  —  ever  unmurmuringly 
resigned  in  discouraging  change.  He  prayed  constantly 
and  fervently  for  entire  submission  on  the  part  of  both^  in 
the  event  of  separation,  and  his  faith  was  unfaltering  in  re- 
union beyond  the  grave. 

"  On  one  occasion,  when  incidental  reference  was  made  to 
a  person  who  had  treated  him  ill,  he  said  '  all  resentment 
is  iviped  aioay.'* 

"  He  never  forgot,  in  his  hours  of  extremest  pain  or  weari- 
ness, the  comfort  of  those  who  were  watching  with  him  ; 
caring  lest  they  should  become  exhausted  through  fatigue, 
or  lest,  through  their  devotion  to  him,  their  business  or  their 
home  duties  should  suffer.     He  also  constantly  contrasted 


MEMOIR.  59 

his  own  sick  bed  (surrounded  by  wife  and  friends)  with 
many  others  in  California,  whose  suffering  occupants  en- 
dure alone,  and  die  far  from  all  that  their  hearts  hold 
dear  ;  and  for  the  three  weeks  that  he  lay  on  '  his  bed  of 
languishing,'  not  a  murmur,  not  an  expression  of  impa- 
tience, fell  from  his  lips. 

"  With  the  paralysis,  the  disease  which  had  caused  him  so 
much  suffering  before  leaving  Hartford  [inflammation  of  the 
kidneys] ,  reappeared  ;  and  though  from  the  deadening  of 
the  nerves  of  sensation  he  suffered  no  pain,  yet  the  symp- 
toms were  aggravated  and  unaffected  by  medicine.  The 
physicians  considered  that  he  suffered  from  a  complication 
of  diseases,  each  influencing  the  other.  At  this  time  there 
was  but  slight  change  in  his  general  symptoms.  He  re- 
gained the  use  of  his  limbs  a  little;  but  there  was  no  return 
of  sensation  to  the  spine. 

"  Owing  to  his  being  much  disturbed  by  the  noise  of  work- 
men, engaged  in  making  additions  to  the  hotel  in  which  we 
boarded,  the  physicians  advised  his  removal  to  some  quieter 
place,  and  accordingly,  on  Saturday,  October  30th,  he  was 
carried  a  short  distance  to  the  house  of  his  generous  friend 
and  parishioner.  Captain  F.  W,  Macondray.  We  watched 
anxiously  for  the  efiect  of  this  exertion  upon  him,  but  we 
could  not  see  that  it  was  other  than  beneficial.  When  he 
uncovered  his  face  after  being  laid  on  his  new  bed,  it  wore 
such  an  expression  of  pleasure,  that  Dr.  Merritt  remarked, 
'Why,  Mr.  Harrington,  we  will  move  you  every  day,  if  it 
improves  you  so  much.' 

"  The  next  morning  (Sunday)  Dr.  Morrison  found  him 
much  better.  He  had  passed  the  night  in  great  comfort, 
and  his  general  symptoms  were  highly  encouraging.  The 
doctor  observed,  '  You  have  nothing  to  do  now,  Mr.  Har- 
rington, but  to  get  xcell  as  fast  as  possible.'  During  the 
day,  the  news  of  his  being  better  spread  rapidly,  and  many 


60  MEMOIR. 

friends  called  to  congratulate  me  on  the  happy  change. 
Joseph  himself  seemed  gratefully,  prayerfully,  accepting  life 
anew. 

"  When  the  doctor  came  to  see  him,  about  len  o'clock  that 
night,  he  found  a  great  alteration  in  his  pulse,  and  every 
indication  of  rapid  sinking.  He  only  intimated  his  fears  to 
one  person,  —  the  friend  who  was  going  to  watch  the  latter 
part  of  the  night.  I  went  to  bed  after  midnight,  in  the  ad- 
joining room,  entirely  unconscious  of  any  change. 

"  In  the  morning  he  was  evidently  so  much  worse  that  all 
my  fears  returned.  Three  additional  physicians  were 
called  in,  but  they  could  suggest  nothing  to  stay  the  precious 
life  that  was  fast  ebbing  away.  Joseph  watched  their  faces 
as  they  examined  pulse,  tongue,  and  skin.  Question  seemed 
unnecessary  ;  their  countenances  were  hopeless.  When  I 
returned  to  the  room  after  a  short  absence  with  the  phy- 
sicians, and  stood  back  of  his  pillows,  that  he  might  not 
observe  the  emotion  which  could  not  be  controlled,  he 
turned  his  head  quite  round  to  see  me,  saying,  '  Ah  !  you 
cannot  conceal  those  tears.'  From  this  moment  he  ac- 
cepted death  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  he  had  received 
the  prospect  of  returning  life.  With  respect  to  the  dear 
ones  he  must  leave  behind,  he  said  he  had  no  fears,  —  God 
would  provide  for  them.  During  the  day  he  remarked, 
'  I  don't  think  of  myself ;  I  feel  only  for  my  bereaved 
wife  and  child.'  And  again,  '  Tell  my  dear  mother  that 
I  loved  her  devotedly,  and  always  loved  her.' 

"  Among  his  associates,  with  whom  he  had  conversed  fre- 
quently while  at  San  Francisco,  upon  matters  of  opinion 
and  faith,  was  an  Episcopal  clergyman,  who  did  not  believe 
that  the  faith  of  a  Unitarian  would  support  the  heart  at  the 
hour  of  death.  He  stood  at  his  bedside  in  silence. 
'Brother  Moore,'  said  the  dying  Christian,  'One  of  us 
lieth  low,  and  the  other  standeth  erect,  through  the  will  of 


MEMOIR.  61 

the  same  merciful  Father.  I  go  willingly, — joyfully, — 
all  through  a  glorious  Saviour.' 

"  Once  he  said,  '  I  fear  the  Lord  has  marked  me  for  his 
own.'  '  No,'  said  I,  '  you  trust,  you  do  not  fear.''  '  O 
yes!'  he  replied,  fervently,  —  'perfect  trust  and  perfect 
submission.' 

"  Gradually  he  grew  weaker  in  body,  but  his  clear  con- 
sciousness never  forsook  him  ;  he  fully  appreciated  his 
dying  state. 

"  He  had  always  had  a  great  dread  of  physical  pain,  and 
now,  while  speaking  to  me  of  the  slight  comparative  suffer- 
ing of  his  illness,  he  added,  'Oh,  if  it  would  please  the 
Lord  to  let  the  last  hour  be  without  agony  !  '  And  his 
prayer  was  answered  in  mercy.  God  took  him  gently  to 
himself.  The  last  words  he  spoke  were  in  recognition  of 
his  child,  '  My  own  darling  little  Nelly  ! ' 

"  At  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  (Tuesday,  November 
2d,  1852),  he  passed  serenely  to  his  eternal  reward. 

"  From  the  commencement  to  the  end  of  his  illness,  he 
was  surrounded  by  every  comfort  that  devoted  friends 
could  furnish  or  wealth  procure.  Not  only  to  the  family  of 
his  hospitable  parishioner,  and  to  his  own  congregation 
generally,  was  he  an  especial  care,  but  friends  of  all  de- 
nominations vied  with  each  other  in  kind  attentions  and 
faithful  watchings.  The  house  was  perpetually  thronged 
with  anxious  inquirers  and  eager  offerers  of  service ;  and 
if  love  were  strong  to  bind  on  earth,  he  must  have  been 
spared. 

"  The  burial  service  was  conducted  by  Rev.  Mr.  Hunt, 
of  the  Orthodox  church.  He  used  (by  request)  the  '  ser- 
vice '  of  the  Unitarian  Church  of  St.  Louis,  and  made  a 
beautiful  and  touching  address  upon  the  character,  life,  and 
death  of  his  lamented  brother." 


62  MEMOIR. 

The  remains  of  E-ev.  Joseph  Harrington  were  in- 
terred at  San  Francisco,  November  4th,  1852,  and 
at  Forest  Hills  Cemetery,  Roxbury,  Massachusetts, 
December  13th,  1853. 

The  news  of  his  death  spread  sadness  over  the 
hearts  of  many,  who,  even  in  a  short  acquaintance, 
had  become  strongly  attached  to  him  ;  and  in  various 
parts  of  the  country,  where  Mr.  Harrington  had  been 
best  known,  obituary  notices  appeared  in  the  religious 
and  secular  newspapers,  expressing  profound  grief 
for  his  loss,  a  just  appreciation  of  his  learning,  and 
admiration  of  his  power  and  eloquence  as  a  preacher. 

The  loss  to  the  society  at  San  Francisco  seemed 
irreparable ;  and  their  sentiments  were  expressed 
in  the  following  resolutions,  passed  on  the  8th  of 
November,  at  a  meeting  of  the  Unitarians  of  that 
city. 

"  Resolved,  That  the  death  of  our  beloved  pastor,  the 
Rev.  Joseph  Harrington,  has  impressed  us  with  the  pro- 
foundest  sorrow. 

"  Resolved,  That  whilst  we  bow  in  submission  to  this  most 
afflicting  dispensation  of  Providence,  we  cannot  but  feel 
that  we  have  lost  the  head  of  our  church  ;  one  who  was 
pre-eminently  fitted  to  be  the  pioneer  of  our  fahh  upon  the 
Pacific,  and  around  whom  might  well  cluster  all  the  hopes 
and  efforts  of  our  new  society  ;  while  our  city  has  lost  one 
whose  influence,  both  as  a  Christian  minister  and  a  prac- 
tical philanthropist,  would  have  been  wide-spread  and  highly 
beneficial. 

"  Resolved,  That  the  brief  but  delightful  connection 
allowed  us  with  our  departed  pastor  and  friend  has  en- 
deared him  to  the  hearts  of  all  of  us,  and  taught  us  how  to 
appreciate  the  greatness  of  their  loss  who  were  connect- 
ed with  him  by  the  ties  of  natural  afTection. 


MEMOIR.  63 

"  Resolved,  That  we  sincerely  sympathize  with  the  family 
of  the  deceased  in  the  distressing  bereavement  which 
has  befallen  them  and  us,  and  offer  to  them  our  heart- 
felt condolence  in  our  common  misfortune. 

"  Resolved,  That  these  resolutions  be  entered  in  the  rec- 
ords of  our  society,  and  copies  transmitted_^  to  the  family  of 
our  late  pastor. 

"  George  V.  Noyes,  Secretary.'''' 

"  So  passed  from  earth  to  heaven  God's  gifted 
and  faithful  servant." 

From  the  time  when  he  prayerfully  consecrated 
himself  to  the  work  of  the  ministry,  all  events 
assumed  to  him  a  religious  aspect,  and  every  nerve 
and  fibre  of  his  mental  constitution  seemed  pene- 
trated with  the  etherial  spirit  of  Christianity. 

Romance,  touched  by  celestial  fire,  was  trans- 
formed into  that  beautiful  devotion  which  for  ever 
united  him  to  her  in  whose  arms  he  breathed  his 
last.  The  heroic  elements  of  his  character  infused 
vigor,  resolution,  energy,  and  fortitude  into  those 
efforts  which  would  otherwise  have  disheartened 
him.  His  magnanimity  spread  a  genial  atmosphere 
around  him.  His  devoted ness  to  duty  saved  him 
from  embarrassments,  and  generosity  to  others  re- 
lieved him  from  anxious  concern  for  the  worldly 
interests  of  those  who  depended  on  him. 

Throughout  his  ministerial  life,  filled  as  it  was 
with  changes  and  self-sacrifice,  he  felt  no  misgivings, 
—  no  want  of  confidence  in  an  overruling  Provi- 
dence. 

He  was  sure  that  all  was  for  the  best,  and  he  ad- 
vanced from  one  labor  to  another  with  enthusiastic 


64  MEMOIR. 

earnestness  and  trust,  with  absolute  resignation  to 
God's  will,  and  anxious  only  to  live  nobly  and  do 
his  duty. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  find  any  instance  of  more 
entire  self-renouncement;  or  of  more  childlike  sub- 
mission to  the  dictates  of  conscience. 

From  all  those  instincts  of  the  heart  that  made 
his  youth  romantic,  chivalrous,  and  even  magnan- 
imous, he  advanced  to  those  far  higher  and  nobler 
qualities  that  made  his  manhood  religious.  His 
powers  being  consecrated  to  the  service  of  God,  he 
knew  no  happiness  but  in  doing  His  will. 

He  died  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  the  most  bril- 
liant prospects  of  usefulness  before  him,  admired,  be- 
loved, and  reverenced.  The  light  of  his  example 
still  shines  upon  us,  although  the  orb  itself  has  been 
withdrawn  from  our  hemisphere. 


SERMONS 


SERMON  I. 


CHRIST  OUR  MASTER  AND  LORD. 


YE    CALL  ME   MASTER  AND   LORD,  AND    YE    SAY   WELL,  FOR  SO  X  AM 

—  Jolm  xiii.  13. 


I  TAKE  comfort,  and  I  find  strength,  in  this  dec- 
laration of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  My  heart  welcomes 
every  expression  and  every  act  that  vindicates  the 
lofty,  the  unquestionable  authority  of  Christ. 

What  can  be  the  strength  of  that  disciple  who 
goes  to  Jesus,  carrying  in  his  own  bosom  the  test 
whereby  to  weigh  Jesus's  claims,  and  determine  his 
authority,  —  acknowledging  it  sufficient  or  insuf- 
ficient, as  it  finds  response  in  his  own  sympathies 
or  intuitions  ?  This  is  applying  the  civil  theory, 
that  the  specific  form  of  government,  and  the  special 
officers  who  are  to  govern,  shall  be  determined  by 
those  who  are  to  be  the  subjects  of  the  government. 
Consequently,  if  these  subjects  unite  to  condemn 
and  overthrow  an  existing  government,  or  particular 
rulers,  the  act  is  a  release  to  them  of  all  homage 
and  service. 

As  I  interpret  Christ's  position  and  relation  to 
God  and  to  us,  this  theory  is  barred  out  from  every 


68         CHRIST  OUR  MASTER  AND  LORD. 

estimate  of  his  sovereignty.  The  divine  right  to 
rule  inheres  in  Jesus  Christ.  His  dominion  is  abso- 
lute. We  have  no  pleas  of  personal  and  inalien- 
able prerogative,  whereby  we  may  limit  or  abate 
that  dominion.  I  do  not  recognize  our  competency 
to  say,  "  Our  judgments  protest  against  such  or  such 
precepts ;  we  do  not  find  this  or  that  counsel  agree- 
ing with  the  instincts  of  our  natures ;  the  internal 
evidence  of  the  propriety  or  wisdom  of  this  injunc- 
tion, or  of  that  act,  is  not  sufficient  to  convince  us, 
therefore  to  that  extent  we  reject  the  authority  of 
Christ." 

I  counsel  no  intellectual  servitude.  I  know  the 
unhappy  consequences  of  an  assent  to  claims 
against  which  the  heart  protests.  I  know  that  there 
can  be  no  life  in  faith,  and  no  fruits  of  obedience, 
where  either  is  the  product  of  a  necessity,  and  not  of 
a  cordial  impulse. 

But  there  is  a  certain  frame  of  spirit  in  which  we 
should  approach  Jesus  of  Nazereth  ;  and  if  we  admit 
the  verity  of  the  records  that  speak  of  him,  —  if  we 
receive  the  facts  of  his  transcendent  mission,  and  of 
his  celestial  relations,  —  if  we  recognize  him  as  the 
presence  of  a  supernal  power,  the  light  of  a  divine 
wisdom,  and  the  expression  of  a  heavenly  love,  — 
we  cannot  fail  to  stand  meekly  before  him  ;  and  if  we 
question,  to  question  not  captiously,  not  curiously, 
not  selfishly,  but  with  a  solemn  anxiety,  and  with  a 
spirit  that  feels  that  it  may  be  dealing  with  mys- 
teries not  to  be  too  minutely  dissected,  —  not  to  be 
impatiently  and  sceptically  "interrogated. 

I  say  this,  yet  abating  no  jot  of  reverence  for  the 


CHRIST  OUR  MASTER  AND  LORD.         69 

majesty  of  reason,  no  jot  of  faith  in  the  necessity  of 
an  intelligent  and  sifting  scrutiny  of  the  highest  and 
most  peculiar  propositions,  whether  pertaining  to 
this  or  to  the  other  worlds,  whether  to  human  or 
to  superhuman  creatures. 

I  repeat,  we  all  of  us  need,  in  larger  measure,  the 
recognition  that  Christ  has  entered  into  the  world 
as  by  divine  rig-ht ;  that  he  comes  to  claim  a  throne, 
that  he  seats  himself  thereon  to  rule  and  judge, 
and  that  the  seal  of  his  right  to  this  august  sover- 
eignty is  the  will  of  God,  —  that  the  end  of  this  as- 
sumption of  power  is  the  unlimited  and  the  unresist- 
ed control  over  our  whole  being,  and  that  the  spirit 
and  purpose  of  this  inauguration  into  supernal 
authority  is  the  deliverance  of  our  souls  from  sin. 

When  Christ,  then,  says,  "  I  am  your  Lord  and 
Master,"  I  interpret  him  to  mean  that  he  is  our 
authoritative  moral  and  spiritual  Ruler,  —  without 
reserve  and  without  question,  supreme  over  this 
realm  of  the  soul  (of  course  theoretically  under  God), 
but  supreme  because  utterly  under  God ;  in  spirit  and 
aim  coincident  with  him ;  in  action  and  life  mani- 
festing him  practically  standing  to  us  as  God;  and 
that  he  leaves  for  us  only  reverence  and  submission  ; 
admitting  the  liberty  to  determine  and  to  compre- 
hend, as  best  we  may,  luhat  he  did  say,  or  what  he 
did  do,  thereafter  giving  us  no  freedom  but  to  per- 
form what  we  find  to  be  his  will. 

Is  it  anywhere  manifest  that  the  Saviour  per- 
mitted the  wisdom  or  the  righteousness  of  his  words 
or  acts,  to  be  questioned  ?  that  he  under  any  circum- 
stance doubted  the  competency  of  his  teachings,  or 


70  CHRIST    OUR    MASTER   AND    LORD. 

the  fitness  of  his  course  ?  that  he  took  any  counsel 
of  man  or  admitted  any  responsibleness  to  man  ? 
Can  we  suppose  that  Peter's  protestations  ever 
modified  his  acts?  or  that  Matthew's  good  sense 
ever  shaped  his  judgment  ?  or  that  John's  fine  in- 
stincts ever  guided  his  sympathies  ?  or  that  James's 
practical  turn  ever  gave  a  more  useful  or  efficient 
direction  to  his  love  ? 

If  there  be  one  fact  conspicuous  above  another  in 
the  life  of  Christ,  it  is  his  independence  of  human 
suggestion.  He  is  himself  the  fountain  of  the  wis- 
dom of  others,  — the  inspirer  of  their  hearts,  and  the 
director  of  their  practice.  To  God  alone  did  he  ap- 
peal ;  and  God  vouchsafed  to  him  a  sagacity,  a  holi- 
ness, and  a  benignity,  that  were  beyond  the  council, 
as  beyond  the  full  comprehension,  of  men. 

I  feel  then  painfully  at  variance  with  that  theology 
which  styles  Christ  our  brother.  Such  phraseology 
may  not  indicate  any  less  experience  of  the  power 
of  the  Gospel  in  the  individual  heart ;  but  it  inti- 
mates a  conception  of  the  nature  and  relations  of 
Christ  which  seems  to  me  to  contradict  the  facts  of 
his  history,  and  to  be  inconsistent  with  the  aim  and 
the  efficacy  of  his  mission.  In  one  sense  we  are  the 
brethren  of  Christ.  Pie  so  styles  those  who  do  the 
will  of  God.  In  view  of  the  only  self-existent  one, 
the  universal  Father,  the  whole  family  of  created 
intelligences,  including  angels,  archangels,  and  Christ 
himself,  may  be  said  to  be  brothers,  and  in  the  enun- 
ciation of  a  truth,  as  antagonistic  to  some  signal 
misstatement,  it  may  be  properly  said  that  we  are 
brethren  of  Christ.     Thus,  to  an  assertion  that  we 


CHRIST    OUR    MASTER    AND    LORD.  71 

were  all  formed  by  Christ,  as  the  author  of  our  be- 
ing, it  would  be  a  fitting  answer  that  Christ  is  our 
brother  in  derivation  from,  and  in  dependence  upon, 
and  in  obedience  to,  the  one  God.  There  is  also  a 
limited  relation  under  which  we  may  speak  of  our- 
selves as  the  brethren  of  Christ,  as  when  his  merely 
human  aspects  are  taken  into  view. 

But  beyond  this,  such  phraseology  grates  repul- 
sively on  my  ear.  Christ  is  the  centre  of  my  religion, 
—  not  merely  the  author  of  my  philosophy,  and  the 
exemplar  for  my  life  ;  and  the  very  words  that  pic- 
ture him  to  me,  must  lift  him  above  my  soul,  and 
invest  him  with  reverence  ;  then,  as  by  fulness  of 
faith,  and  outflow  of  affection,  and  effort  to  catch 
his  spirit  toward  God,  I  may  feel  myself  brought 
into  a  loving  contact  with  him.  It  may  be  that  I 
shall  delight  to  think  that  he  regards  me  as  a  broth- 
.  er,  yet  I  cannot  even  then  say,  in  my  heart  to 
Christ,  Thou  art  my  brother. 

"  One  is  your  master,  even  Christ ;  and  all  ye  are 
brethren."  This,  then,  is  the  title  and  the  position 
of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  Most  Christians  concede  to 
him  this  nominal  dominion.  It  will  be  profitable  to 
inquire  into  the  nature,  the  sphere,  and  the  reality  of 
the  sovereignty. 

1.  First,  what  is  the  nature  of  this  sovereignty  ? 
It  is  not  an  authority  over  names  and  shows  and 
places,  or  even  acts.  It  has  nothing  of  the  nature  of 
a  civil  magistracy.  It  can  inflict  no  direct  penalties  ; 
it  can  grant  no  reprieves,  no  commutations,  and  no 
remissions  of  sentence.  It  can  employ  no  force,  for 
the  very  element  of  its  power  is  the  free  will  of  its 


72         CHRIST  OUR  MASTER  AND  LORD. 

subject.  Its  nature  is  purely  spiritual  and  loving 
and  gracious.  When  it  speaks,  it  is  with  such  a 
tone  as  inflames  no  resistance ;  when  it  conquers,  it 
exalts,  not  for  itself,  but  for  the  victory  of  its  subject  j 
when  it  is  contemned,  it  sadly  and  solemnly  warns, 
not  as  if  guarding  its  own  mocked  sceptre,  but  as  if 
in  compassion  for  the  wretchedness  which  the  foolish 
rebel  is  laying  up  for  himself. 

All  heavenly  in  its  nature  is  the  authority  of 
Christ.  It  is  clothed  with  the  attributes  that  encircle 
the  Deity.  His  power  is  its  right  arm  ;  his  truth  is 
its  open  path  ;  his  justice  is  its  crown;  his  holiness 
is  its  robe  ;  his  mercy  is  its  heart. 

2.  And  what  is  the  sphere  of  this  sovereignty  of 
Christ  ?  The  outermost  circle  of  its  scope  is  not 
approached  by  any  form  of  homage,  however  elabor- 
ately prepared,  however  gorgeously  accompanied, — 
at  whatever  cost  of  toil,  of  taste,  of  art,  of  wealth. 
It  acknowledges  no  ecclesiastical  system  as  machin- 
ery through  which  it  is  to  compel  allegiance.  It 
prescribes  no  immutable  opinions  as  the  high  roads 
over  which  its  benefactions  must  pass,  —  it  does  not 
deck  itself  in  lawn  or  scarlet,  in  cassock  or  mitre, 
and  refuse  its  grace  to  such  as  doubt  the  sanctity  of 
its  vestments.  It  has  no  exclusive  chain  of  anoint- 
ed hands,  through  which  the  electric  current  of  its 
blessing  flows.  It  holds  no  special  audience  in 
vaulted  cathedrals,  and  at  gilded  altars.  No  propri- 
eties of  worldliness,  no  exactness  of  habits,  no  arma- 
ment of  theology,  no  sectarian  zeal,  no  resorts  of 
prudence,  no  decencies  for  example's  sake,  no  tributes 
from  the  intellect,  are  its  true  subjects,  —  they  can 


CHRIST    OUR    MASTER    AND    LORD.  73 

never  be  naturalized  into  its  realm.  No  I  The 
sphere  of  the  sovereignty  of  Christ  is  the  broad,  the 
simple,  the  humble  field  of  human  aifections,  —  the 
varied  domain  of  human  experiences.  What  we 
think,  what  we  purpose,  what  we  feel,  is  the  realm 
over  which  Christ  assumes  sway.  Consequently, 
however  beset  by  ignorance,  or  enlarged  by  knowl- 
edge ;  though  hemmed  in  by  poverty,  or  lapped  in 
the  ease  and  elegances  of  wealth  ;  though  creeping 
unnoticed  from  our  cradles  to  our  graves,  or  climbing 
the  ascents  of  power  and  fame ;  though  plodding 
wearisomely  through  the  shades  of  sorrow,  or  bound- 
ing under  the  bright  sky  of  success  ;  careworn  or 
careless ;  confiding  or  distrustful ;  recklessly  sinning 
or  penitently  serving,  —  we,  our  hearts,  our  souls,  are 
the  sphere  for  the  sovereignity  of  Christ. 

3.  But  now  as  to  the  reality  of  that  sovereignty ! 
What  must  it  be  to  be  real  ?  What  is  to  make 
Christ  truly  Lord  and  Master  of  the  soul  ? 

It  would  seem  as  if  some  thought  that  this  our 
nominal  sovereign  might  be  beguiled,  by  the  shows 
of  homage,  into  the  belief  that  he  was  enthroned  in 
their  hearts.  They  pass  in  reverential  procession 
before  him,  —  they  salute  him  with  frequent  bend- 
ings  of  the  knee,  —  they  sing  his  praises  with  no 
stinted  voice,  —  they  cry  to  him,  Lord!  Lord  !  But 
is  Christ  blind,  that  he  does  not  see  through  this 
hollow  service  ?  And  do  you,  who  render  it,  imagine 
that  in  that  hour,  when  you  stand  knocking  at  the 
bolted  portal  of  your  sovereign's  jjalace,  you  will  fare 
better  than  did  the  foolish  virgins,  who  knocked  at 
the  shut  door  of  the  marriage  dwelling? 
7 


74         CHRIST  OUR  MASTER  AND  LORD. 

There  are  some,  too,  who  seem  to  imply  by  their 
course  that  they  would  entitle  themselves  to  the 
benefit  of  Christ's  sovereignty,  by  giving  him  the 
place  of  power,  while  they  retain  to  themselves  the 
substance  of  it.  Such  are  those  who  constitute  their 
prejudices  or  their  passions  a  kind  of  ministry  or 
college  of  councillors,  who  virtually  discrown  their 
monarch,  make  him  the  instrument  through  which 
they,  under  spiritual  pretexts,  give  laws  to  the  realm 
of  the  soul.  What  perversion  does  selfishness  often 
incite  of  the  sanctions  of  the  Gospel !  How  do 
greed,  love  of  pleasure,  appetite,  uncharitableness, 
wind  insiduously  or  rush  defiantly  to  their  ends,  yet 
as  under  the  standard  of  the  sovereign  Christ ! 
Shun  any  such  deliberate  disobedience  as  this.  Do 
not  feign,  brethren,  to  honor  the  Lord  and  Master ; 
if  you  would  thus  deliberately  give  laws  to  your- 
selves, —  if  you  would  seek  to  qualify  or  to  interpret 
loosely,  or  to  pervert  in  application,  any,  the  lightest 
precept  of  the  Saviour.  The  guile  of  the  heart  has 
devices  enough  ;  its  impulses,  energy  enough  ;  its 
indifference,  hardihood  enough,  to  attempt  this,  in- 
dependently of  any  deliheraie  encouragement  on 
your  parts,  whenever  the  desires  look  one  way,  the 
restrictions  of  Christ  another.  But  there  is  no  real- 
ity to  his  supposed  sovereignty  in  your  hearts,  so 
long  as  this  practical  disloyalty  remains.  Give  him 
the  substance  as  the  name  of  power. 

Again,  Christ's  sovereignty,  to  be  real,  must  be 
continuous.  He  cannot  be  enthroned  to-day  and 
dethroned  to-morrow,  and  re-established  in  dominion 
the  third  day.     There  is  no  such  thing  in  the  soul  of 


CHRIST    OUR    MASTER    AND    LORD.  75 

man  as  such  vicissitudes  of  authority.  Will  the 
mob  that  riots  through  the  city  one  hour  return  to 
peaceful  duty  the  next,  alternating  between  lawless- 
ness and  order  ?  No  !  the  authority  of  that  city  is 
defied,  and  anarchy  is  within  its  borders.  So  Christ 
is  no  longer  Lord  and  Master  of  that  soul,  that,  under 
whatever  inducement,  deliberately  suspends  the  rule 
of  his  precepts.  It  is  one  thing,  frail  disciple,  for 
you  to  trip  in  your  selfish  haste,  to  be  seized  by  some 
fierce  impulse,  and  be  hoodwinked  and  borne  on 
suddenly  to  evil,  or  to  be  beguiled  by  a  seductive  lie 
into  abnegation  of  your  allegiance,  —  and  it  is  an- 
other thing  for  you,  deliberate  offender,  to  seek, 
though  but  for  an  instant,  to  evade  the  eye  of  your 
Sovereign,  or  daringly  to  defy  it.  There  was  misfor- 
tune under  the  former  circumstances,  and  extenua- 
tion of  guilt ;  under  these  circumstances,  there  is 
hard,  cold,  unpardonable  sin. 

Still  again  ;  the  sovereignty  of  Christ  is  real  only 
as  it  is  universal.  It  is  possible  for  the  monarch 
over  a  confederated  people,  consisting  of  divers 
tribes,  to  maintain  complete  dominion  over  most  of 
them,  v/hile  one  shall  have  risen  in  rebellion,  and 
shall  have  absolutely  defied  his  rule.  They  may  be 
at  peace  among  themselves,  and  may  lend  to  their 
Sovereign  their  full  power,  in  aid  of  his  effort  to  re- 
duce the  disloyal  province. 

But,  unhappily  for  any  solace  for  sin,  there  is  no 
such  division  among  the  powers  of  the  soul  as  will 
permit  a  portion  of  them  to  acknowledge  the  sover- 
eignty of  Christ,  while  a  part  may  disallow  it. 
The  soul  is  one.     All  its  faculties  are  welded  to  one 


76  CHRIST    OUR   MASTER  AND    LORD. 

consciousness.  The  act  of  the  man,  being  the  exe- 
cution of  his  will,  is  the  act  of  the  whole  man.  If 
there  be  disloyalty  in  one  deed,  it  is  for  the  time 
being,  not  the  insurgency  of  a  single  province,  but 
the  uprising  and  the  anarchy  of  the  entire  realm. 

The  Scriptures  warn  us  against  our  "  easily  be- 
setting sins " ;  but  all  who  only  grant  to  Christ  a 
limited,  which  is  an  unreal  sovereignty,  give  him 
rule  merely  over  the  sins  which  do  not  easily  beset 
them,  —  which  never  seriously  and  do  not  frequently 
tempt  them.  "While  in  the  direction  of  their  most 
signal  frailties,  or  their  most  exacting  desires,  they 
reserve  jurisdiction  to  themselves.  "  All  these  have 
they  kept  from  their  youth  up,  —  all  these  they  still 
keep,"  but  the  cankering  lust  that  is  eating  at  their 
souls,  — that  secret  carnal  affection,  whether  of  pride, 
or  selfishness,  or  sensuality,  or  covetousness,  this  they 
cannot  banish,  and  they  "  go  away  sorrowing,"  from 
the  injunction  of  their  master,  and  practically  abjure 
his  sovereignity. 

Alas!  my  brethren,  the  law  of  Christ  within  us 
must  remain  unbroken ;  his  reign  must  be  uniform, 
permanent,  and  unlimited,  or  it  is  not  real ;  and  if  it 
be  not  real,  it  is  nothing. 

When,  then,  finally,  we  come  to  bring  the  ques- 
tion home,  of  the  reality  of  Christ's  sovereignty  in 
our  own  bosoms,  the  best  of  us  may  well  return  a 
look  of  sorrowful  doubt.  Is  Jesus  of  Nazareth  our 
"  Master  and  Lord  ?  "  Let  the  history  of  our  daily 
life  reply.  What  is  there  of  the  spirit  of  Christian 
consecration  in  it  ?  What  is  there  of  systematic 
effort  to  do  the  Master's  will?     If,  as  our  courier 


CHRIST  OUR  MASTER  AND  LORD.  77 

traverses  the  territories  of  our  experience,  he  finds, 
hei'e,  anxieties  that  have  their  origin  in  pure  worldli- 
ness;  there,  material  cares,  that  are  crowding  irrev- 
erently around  the  throne  of  the  Sovereign  ;  noiu, 
peevishness,  ill-temper,  uncharitableness ;  then,  the 
pursuit  of  an  unlawful  pleasure  or  unlawful  gain ; 
here,  something  of  deceit ;  there,  something  of  pride, 
and  so  on,  well  may  that  messenger  bring  back 
tidings  of  a  slack  and  doubtful  allegiance. 

My  friends,  it  is  your  Lord  and  Master  here,  within 
these  sanctuary  walls,  and  under  the  lowlier  roofs  of 
your  dwellings ;  he  is  your  Master  in  these  public 
ministrations,  and  in  the  musings  of  your  secret 
hearts.  He  is  your  Master  through  the  whole  round 
of  your  duties,  whether  the  business  of  the  street, 
the  workshop,  the  counting-room,  the  public  office,  or 
the  obscurer  cares  of  the  household.  He  is  your 
Master  in  every  personal  and  private  act,  and  in  any 
act  that  affects  your  neighbor.  He  is  "  Lord  and 
Master "  of  your  speech  and  of  your  conduct,  and 
of  the  unbetrayed  purposes  and  aims  of  your  hearts. 
He  is  Lord  over  your  tempers,  your  ambitions,  your 
joys,  griefs,  perplexities,  and  successes.  He  is  the 
one  Supreme  guide  to  the  way  of  your  souls  to  ever- 
lasting life.  Will  you  permit  your  mournful  indiffer- 
ence to  his  benignant  rule  ?  Will  you  set  up  your 
gods  of  wood  or  metal,  of  strange  device,  instead  of 
him  ?  Do  you  love  the  chains  which  bind  you  to 
an  illusive  earthly  joy  rather  than  the  free  allegiance 
that  gives  you  the  range  of  Heaven  ?  So,  abjuring 
Christ,  you  disallow  the  blessed  reign  of  God  in 
your  souls. 


78         CHRIST  OUR  MASTER  AND  LORD. 

Happy  they  who  take  upon  themselves  the  vows 
of  allegiance  unto  "  Master  and  Lord  "  !  Blessed, 
unspeakably  blessed  they,  if  they  keep  those  vows ! 
May  God  defend  the  sovereignty  of  his  Son  in  their 
hearts  for  ever  and  ever. 

"  And  now  unto  the  King  eternal,  immortal,  and 
invisible,  the  only  wise  God,  be  honor  and  glory 
through  Jesus  Christ  for  ever." 


SERMON    II. 


GOD  WORKS    IN    YOU. 


WORK   OUT  YOUR  OWN    SALVATION  WITH    PEAR  AND    TREMBLING  ; 
FOR   IT    IS    GOD   Wnicn   WORKETH    IN    YOU   BOTH    TO   WILL  AND 

TO  DO  OP  ms  GOOD  PLEASURE.  —  Philippians  ii.  12,  13. 

In  the  first  clause  of  this  text  the  Apostle  enjoins 
a  duty ;  in  the  latter  clause  he  offers  a  reason  and  an 
encouragement  for  the  performance  of  the  duty. 
The  duty  is  the  "  working  out  of  our  own  salvation." 
The  encouragement  is  the  "  working  of  God  within 
us,  both  to  will  and  to  do  of  his  good  pleasure." 

1.  Let  us  first  consider  the  encouragement.  God 
works  in  us.  It  seems  to  me  that  no  one,  not  spe- 
cially hardened  in  vice,  or  signally  insensible  by  na- 
ture, can  fan  to  admit  this ;  and  even  such  a  one  will 
probably  acknowledge  that  there  have  been  times 
when  it  would  have  falsified  his  experience  to  deny 
an  inward  working  of  God. 

I  do  not  seek  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  con- 
sciousness, to  define  how  the  Deity  makes  himself 
felt  within  us.  But  the  fact  itself  it  is  essential  to 
admit.  Whatever  theory  of  dej^ravity  be  adopted,  it 
must  recognize  this  universal  interior  operation  of 
the  Deity  ;  for  depravity,  after  all,  consists  in  a  defect 


80  GOD    WORKS    IN    YOLF. 

or  a  perversity  pertaining  to  the  luill  as  the  executive 
force  of  the  man,  as  the  positive  character,  rather 
than  to  any  natural  condition  of  being  which  may 
be  said  to  lie  beneath  and  behind  the  will.  It  is  not 
depravity,  a  culpable  sinfulness,  to  have  an  inward 
chamber  within  which  God's  Spirit  never  dwelt  or 
spoke.  It  is  depravity,  that  man,  consciously  wit- 
nessing this  inner  presence  and  hearing  this  inner 
voice,  should  yet  set  them  at  naught. 

This  interior  flame,  like  the  Promethean  fire, 
seems  to  come  with  life  from  Heaven.  Once  was  it 
made  supernaturally  visible.  Before  and  since  the 
miraculous  era  it  has  been  known  only  by  its  divine 
heat  and  light  within  the  consciousness. 

And  it  burns  despite  a  neglected  or  a  perverse  ed- 
ucation. Probably  never  one  grew  to  manhood, 
whatever  were  the  circumstances  of  his  birth  and 
culture,  who  did  not,  at  some  time,  feel  himself  the 
subject  of  a  divine  possession.  He  may  not  have 
known  it  by  the  name,  divine.  He  may  not  have 
acknowledged  the  possessor  as  God,  but  it  was  as  a 
presence,  a  foreign  presence,  a  law,  authoritative  and 
solemn,  resisting  him,  clashing  with  his  purposes, 
bidding  him  toward  other  objects,  and  into  other 
directions,  and  convincing  him  that  obedience  would 
be  the  only  wise,  right,  happy  course.  And  as  he 
withstood  and  finally  vanquished  this  counsellor,  and 
sinned,  he  felt  that  he  was  a  loser  by  his  victory,  and 
that  he  had  driven  from  his  heart  his  truest  friend. 

Do  not  our  daily  experiences  attest  this  fact  of 
a  Divine  presence  ?  How  suddenly  and  powerfully 
are  we  affected  by  thoughts,  by  resolves,  to  be  ac- 


GOD    WORKS    IN    YOU.  81 

counted  for  by  no  laws  of  association,  but  in  their 
influences  and  results,  if  we  heed  them,  fruitful  of 
the  purest  joy.  How  are  outward  scenes  and  cir- 
cumstances, changes,  disappointments,  &c.,  made 
to  awaken  feelings  and  enkindle  desires  whose  end 
is  blessedness.  If  the  tempter  urge  us  to  a  base  or 
a  wicked  action,  to  dissembling  and  corrupting 
words,  to  impure  or  selfish  imaginations,  there  is  a 
protest  heard  from  the  monitor  within,  which  re- 
minds us  of  our  allegiance  to  honor,  chastity,  disinter- 
estedness, candor,  uprightness  ;  or  more  strongly,  and 
all  in  one  of  our  allegiance  to  the  law  of  God.  And 
when  we  deliberate  between  the  wrong  and  the  right, 
such  sweet  encouragements  are  made  to  surround  the 
latter,  such  blessings  wait  to  crown  our  sinless  de- 
cision, that  Heaven  seems  to  open  itself  with  visible 
inducements  to  us  to  determine  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord. 
In  short,  it  is  manifestly  the  desire  and  interest  of 
God,  so  to  speak,  that  we  should  cleave  to  Him. 
So  he  guards  and  warns  and  admonishes  and  afllicts 
and  allures,  that  we  may  be  persuaded  into  right- 
eousness. 

Now  this  is  the  sublimestand  most  moving  fact  of 
life  ;  it  is  the  glory  of  the  poor,  infirm  creature ;  and 
if  we  fully  realized  it,  it  would  signally  aid  us  to  do 
that  great  thing  which  the  Apostle  enjoins,  namely, 
work  out  our  own  salvation. 

For  what  can  more  effectually  inspire  us  to  turn 
with  faith  and  love  to  another,  than  the  knowledge 
that  he  is  pouring  out  his  affection  upon  us,  and  en- 
circling us  with  his  helps  ?  Let  a  son  forsake  his  fa- 
ther's house,  and  wander  in  strange  lands,  and  sur- 


82  GOD    WORKS    IN    YOU. 

round  himself  with  loose  associates,  and  every  hour 
transgress  the  sacred  precepts  and  violate  the  most 
ardent  wishes  of  that  father  ;  yet  suppose  evidences, 
all  along  the  wanderer's  path,  continually  presenting 
themselves,  of  regard,  anxiety,  and  watchfulness  on 
the  part  of  the  neglected  parent,  —  a  letter  here,  a 
message  by  a  friend  there,  a  book  in  one  place,  a 
portrait  in  another,  and  so  on.  If  the  sense  of  this 
entreating  love,  this  unselfish  care,  this  warning  over- 
sight, do  seize  upon  that  thoughtless  young  man's 
heart,  will  it  not  be  likely  to  subdue  him,  and  bring 
him  to  his  father's  feet  again  ?  It  must  have  its  effect 
whenever  felt. 

Just  as  distinctly  is  God  hanging  up  within  the 
chambers  of  your  hearts,  and  scattering  along  the 
path  of  your  affections,  the  tokens  of  his  gracious 
desire  for  your  return  to  his  house.  It  is  not  possible 
for  him  to  comjiel  your  return.  Your  moral  consti- 
tution admits  persuasion  only.  But  what  forebod- 
ings, what  compunctions,  what  hesitations,  marking 
the  path  of  evil  on  the  one  hand;  what  deep  satis- 
factions, what  kindling  thoughts  of  holy  things,  what 
unutterable  exultations,  crowding  the  way  of  obedi- 
ence on  the  other,  go  to  make  up  that  persuasion. 

I  can  conceive  that  a  sense  of  abandonment  by 
God,  of  being  left  entirely  to  one's  own  moral  way 
as  if  there  were  no  care  what  sins,  what  miseries  the 
wayward  soul  were  heaping  up  for  itself,  might 
make  the  trangressor  reckless,  might  awaken  a  vin- 
dictive perseverance  in  evil,  or  might  dull  the  spirit 
to  everything  except  a  sense  of  resistless  fate.  But 
what  obligations  which  a  thousand  lives  could  not 


GOD    WORKS    IN    YOU.  83 

fulfil,  which  stoniest  natures  can  alone  deny,  bind  ns, 
the  ever  watched,  entreated  children  of  God,  to  adore 
Him  in  faith  and  obedience,  and  to  work  out  that 
salvation  to  which  He  inspires  us. 

2.  Again ;  this  fact  of  an  inworking  God  goes  fur- 
ther than  merely  to  encourage  with  a  sense  of  inter- 
est and  care  on  the  part  of  the  Deity.  It  offers  the 
still  more  effective  encom'agement  of  direct  aid  to 
our  spiritual  effort.  God  not  only  dwells  with  us 
inwardly,  but  he  works  with  us  constantly.  He  is 
not  an  idle  observer,  but  an  active  co-laborer. 

Let  us  turn  back  to  our  days  of  childhood.  Can 
we  not  remember  how  large  and  discouraging  certain 
tasks  appeared  to  us,  until  the  friendly  hand  of  the 
parent  made  the  burden  light,  —  not  by  lifting  it  so 
that  it  should  not  press,  but  by  the  electric  touch  of 
its  sympathy,  and  by  its  presence  there  to  steady  us 
if  we  staggered,  and  to  relieve  us  of  the  weight  if  it 
threatened  to  overtask  our  powers.  Do  we  not  re- 
experience,  in  the  effect  of  our  assurances  of  aid 
upon  our  oivn  children,  the  blessed  power  of  faith 
in  a  helper  ? 

Is  there  not,  then,  for  you  who  would  forsake 
your  sins  and  work  out  your  salvation,  the  most 
abundant  encouragement  ?  True,  you  approach  the 
effort  in  full  sight  of  your  numberless  infirmities. 
You  cannot  fail  to  recall,  too,  many  endeavors  that 
have  ended  in  disappointment.  It  seems  a  moun- 
tain-height, a  steep  acclivity ;  and  you  have  but 
weak  and  vmcertain  limbs  for  the  climbing.  But  — 
and  all  is  as  nothing  before  this  consideration  — it  is 
not  you,  but  God  that  will  do  the  work,  swelling 


84  GOD    WORKS    IN    YOU. 

your  mortal  sinews  with  heavenly  strength,  and  giv- 
ing his  angels  charge,  that  you  dash  not  your  foot 
against  a  stone.  O,  work  of  sorrow  and  exhaustion, 
and  final  failure,  if  dependent  only  on  human  pur- 
poses !  but  work  of  joy,  and  ever-freshening  energy, 
and  of  cumulative  success,  if  performed  in  the  faith 
of  a  helping  God  ! 

3.  There  is  still  another  direction  in  which  the  en- 
couragement presented  by  the  text  may  be  viewed. 

Every  person  who  seriously  sets  about  the  work 
of  religion  has  anxiety  to  know  the  quality  of  acts 
and  inward  states  which  would  naturally  be  pre- 
sumed to  enter  into  that  work.  As  theologies  run, 
this  is  not  the  easiest  task.  Many  a  one  has  been 
startled  to  be  told,  that  efforts  which  he  was  humbly 
making  toward  a  Christian  life  were  worse  than 
profitless,  —  that  they  indicated  only  a  reliance  on 
personal,  earthly  instrumentalities  for  salvation ; 
which  must  inevitably  remove  him  who  employed 
them  farther  from  God,  —  that  certain  interpreta- 
tions of  Scripture,  particular  views  of  Christ,  and  so 
forth,  were  indispensable  to  safe  exertions  in  behalf 
of  spiritual  deliverance. 

The  text  sheds  all  the  light  on  this  point  that  can 
be  needed ;  and,  by  scattering  doubts,  throws  open 
a  happy  path  for  spiritual  effort.  It  teaches  the  soul 
to  despise  no  emotion,  no  conviction,  no  purpose,  no 
act,  no  toil;  whose  end  is  the  purification  of  the 
heart,  —  the  fulfilling  of  the  Gospel  law  of  love,  —  a 
nearer  communion  with  Christ,  —  a  living  faith  in 
God.  The  text  renders  presumption  and  self-trust 
impossible.     While  it  stamps  true  religious  efforts 


GOD    WORKS    IN     YOU.  85 

as  of  divine  quality,  it  refers  the  source  of  that  qual- 
ity, not  to  the  human  agent,  but  to  the  co-working 
Deity  within.  It  assures  the  meek  laborer  for  the 
meat  that  perisheth  not  (though  in  the  face  of  a 
thousand  creeds)  that  the  labors  which  he  call  s  his 
own  are  yet  God's,  —  that  the  way  which  he  him- 
self, through  his  faith  and  prayers  and  watchings 
and  self-denials,  seems  to  have  opened  for  his  prog- 
ress, is  yet  the  path  which  the  Holy  Spirit  has 
marked  and  prepared  for  him  ;  and  that  the  salvation 
which  his  endeavors  would  seem  to  be  successfully 
working  out  is  but  a  blessedness  offered  by  Infinite 
Grace  and  achieved  by  a  heavenly  Power. 

But  it  is  time  to  turn  to  the  first  clause  of  the 
text,  —  to  the  duty  enjoined  in  view  of  the  encour- 
agements presented.  That  duty  is  the  "  working 
out  of  your  own  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling." 

Without  doubt,  mysterious  are  the  processes  of 
the  soul,  —  mysterious  the  relation  which  God  sus- 
tains to  it.  Here  we  are  enjoined  to  work  out  our 
own  salvation  and  we  feel  that  every  w^ork,  re- 
ligious or  otherwise,  is  our  own,  —  yet  are  we  as- 
sured that  that  very  work  is  God's,  and  we  feel,  — 
yes,  our  whole  souls  bear  witness  to  the  fact,  —  that 
it  is  God's.  Let  this  tremendous  mystery  pass, — 
we  cannot  fathom  it.  There  is  a  practical  truth 
here  which  we  can  fathom,  and  closely  does  it  press 
upon  each  of  us. 

The  whole  responsibility  of  our  salvation  is  thrown 
directly  upon  ourselves.  The  appeal  is  to  our  own 
determinations,  to  our  own  anxious,  assiduous,  and 
persistent  toil  in  the  religious  life.     In  short,  we  are 


86  GOD    WORKS    IN    YOU. 

called  upon  to  work  out  into  salvation  the  elements 
which  God  has  first  created  within  us.  There  is  no 
salvation  for  us,  except  it  be  this  of  God's  preparing ; 
yet  all  this  divine  preparation  is  not  salvation^  except 
it  be  diligently  and  tremblingly  loorked  out  by  our- 
selves. God  throws  open  the  prison-doors,  — our 
deliverance  lies  in  our  own  going  forth.  God  paints 
on  the  soul  the  image  of  righteousness,  — •  sanctity  is 
the  solid  sculpturing  of  the  inner  type,  into  the  mar- 
ble of  purpose,  habit,  action,  life.  God  fills  the 
heart  with  persuasions,  salvation  is  the  practical  con- 
version of  these  into  convictions,  which  may  rule 
and  hallow  the  soul.  No  man  is  an  inventor  througb 
whose  thought  the  plan  of  a  supposed  invention 
merely  has  passed.  In  the  model  it  may  a  hundred 
times  fail.  So  no  aspiration,  and  no  supposed  inspi- 
ration (though  embodied,  it  should  prove  to  be  the 
very  tracing  and  breath  of  God),  is  of  any  moment, 
unless  embodied.  And  to  be  embodied,  it  must 
harden  into  Gospel  substance,  —  a  substance  heard 
in  words,  seen  in  deeds,  manifest  in  feelings;  the 
very  pith  and  marrow  of  daily,  hourly  practice. 
This  is  what  is  meant  by  "  working'  out  one's  own 
salvation."  It  is  like  any  other  work  in  its  draft 
upon  the  energies  and  devotion  of  the  being ;  only 
transcending  all  other  toils,  as  it  exceeds  all  other 
interests,  in  the  solemnity  and  duration  of  its  issues. 
1.  Therefore  as  a  first  specific  suggestion,  you 
may  not  wisely  trust  for  salvation  to  any  sentiment 
or  theory,  or  gushing  impulse,  or  chivalric  imagina- 
tion. If  the  flaming  up  of  a  genuine  divine  fire 
within  you  will  not  of  itself  save  you,  surely  these 


GOD   WORKS    IN    YOU.  87 

earthly  glows,  these  flashes  from  lower  lights,  will 
not  do  that  service.  Sunshine  and  rain,  both  from 
the  sacred  sky  of  grace  above  us,  indispensable  to 
the  life  of  the  soul,  will  yet  not  start  a  single  nutri- 
tive germ  into  growing,  unless  the  practical  energy 
of  the  man,  the  out-working  culture  of  the  man,  do 
its  full,  necessary  part.  The  sunshine  and  the  rain 
are  blessings  indeed,  if,  like  resolute  and  prudent 
husbandmen,  you  labor  for  these  practical  ingather- 
ings of  faith  ;  but  give  heed  lest  you  convert  these 
mighty  helpers  into  the  very  sources  of  your  spiritual 
sterility,  by  trusting,  like  indolent  gleaners,  to  the 
products  which  they  call  into  spontaneous  activity. 

2.  Again,  it  is  not  working  out  your  salvation  to 
confide  your  spiritual  interests  to  one  who  preaches 
to  you  and  prays  with  you  upon  the  Lord's  days. 
If  God  himself,  working  within  you,  cannot  save 
you,  except  you  yourself  work,  surely  man  has  no 
power  to  save  you.  You  are  not  fettered  by  the 
grosser  forms  of  superstition,  yet  you  may  not  be 
wholly  free  from  the  senseless  trust  which  is  the  soul 
of  superstition.  When  sickness,  or  death,  or  sorrow, 
is  in  your  dwelling,  you  give  your  pastor  peculiar 
welcome.  It  is  well.  A  brother's  real  sympathy, 
and  his  ready  offices,  are  grateful  to  the  suffering 
spirit ;  but  you  are  none  the  nearer  heaven  that  he 
is  at  your  side.  And  in  the  funeral  hour,  saving 
that  the  customs  and  decencies  of  society  are  better 
observed  by  his  presence,  it  is  no  better  for  you  and 
yours,  that  he  raises  his  voice  in  supplication.  Just 
so  far  as  he  helps  you  to  open  i/our  soul  before  God, 
—  just  so  far  as  by  leaning  on  him,  you  are  gaining 


88  GOD    WORKS    IN    YOU. 

strength  to  walk  alone,  his  companionship  is  pre- 
cious. His  highest  function,  his  best  success  in 
whatever  circumstances,  is  through  his  sympathies 
and  suggestions,  to  lead  you  to  that  personal  labor 
whose  end  is  salvation. 

A  distinguished  criminal,  lately  executed  in  Eu- 
rope, was  informed  that  he  had  but  a  few  hours  to 
live,  and  that  he  had  better  attend  to  the  affairs  of 
his  soul.  "  Ah !  that  is  the  priest's  concern,"  an- 
swered he.  From  this  reply  we  infer  that  he  had 
the  blind  faith  of  the  Romanist.  But  there  is  some- 
thing of  the  spirit,  the  practical  working  of  this  faith 
throughout  Christendom.  It  has  some  sway  where 
least  suspected,  though  in  forms  less  irrational  than 
this.  But,  by  the  terms  of  this  text,  we  see  that 
though  Christ,  "the  Lord  from  heaven,"  were  min- 
ister at  an  earthly  altar,  he  could  only  help  men  to 
"  work  out  their  own  salvation."  His  purity  could 
not  bear  their  sins,  nor  could  his  faith  be  their  justi- 
fication. 

What  is  termed  Sabbath-day  religion,  an  occa- 
sional putting  on  of  devout  habits,  is  a  gross  species 
of  this  faith  in  a  vicarious  agency,  as  if  the  sanctu- 
ary and  its  forms,  the  Bible  with  its  words,  the  day 
with  its  usages,  could  confer  salvation,  —  could 
throw  immortal  blessedness,  like  a  robe,  over  unwil- 
ling and  indifferent  souls. 

3.  But  there  is  another  point  upon  which  I  would 
speak.  The  whole  spirit  of  the  text  is  violated,  by  a 
certain  relation,  which  the  soul  is  sometimes  urged 
to  sustain  to  Christ,  —  yes,  even  to  Christ.  In  this 
relation  there   is    (speaking  in   general  terms)  no 


GOD    WORKS    IN    YOU.  89 

"  working  out"  a  salvation.  It  is  a  relation,  first,  of 
superstition,  founded  upon  faith  in  the  priestly  func- 
tion ;  next,  it  is  equivalent  to  a  salvation  sought  by 
inward  emotion,  not  by  vital  sanctity,  by  practical 
righteousness.  Still  further,  it  is  as  a  salvation 
hoped  for,  through  an  external,  vicarious  agency. 
All  the  fallacies  of  religious  method,  the  foolish, 
human  expedients  to  furnish  a  siihslitiite  for  sober 
^'■ivork  "  of  the  soul  are  concentered  in  this  relation 
to  Christ. 

There  was  lately  held  up  to  us  the  mental  condi- 
tion and  the  language  of  a  prisoner  of  a  neighbor- 
ing city,  soon  to  pass  from  the  cell  to  the  gallows,  — 
one,  who  certainly  had  been  a  deliberate,  merciless 
villain,  —  and  we  were  bidden  to  rejoice  in  the  dem- 
onstrations of  a  regenerated  heart;  in  the  saving 
relation  established  between  the  criminal  and  his 
Lord.  Here  was  an  example  of  a  leaning  of  belief 
toward  the  unapostolic  way  of  salvation  of  which  I 
have  spoken.  And  when  I  read  the  further  state- 
ment, that  that  prisoner  desired  not  to  live,  —  that  he 
would  probably  refuse  a  pardon  if  offered  him,  be- 
cause he  was  eager  to  be  with  his  Lord,  and  share 
his  blessedness;  —  and  when  it  was  manifest  that 
this  statement,  put  forth  by  a  minister  of  the  Gospel, 
was  supposed  to  express  the  most  natural,  and  the 
most  certain  condition  of  salvation,  —  the  highest 
and  truest  relation  to  Jesus  Christ,  —  I  could  not  re- 
press a  sentiment  of  amazement,  not  to  say  horror. 
It  seemed  to  me  as  if,  under  such  an  interpretation 
of  the  soul's  duty,  the  moral  universe  were  losing  its 
axis  of  motion  and  its  very  orbit  around  the  Deity. 


90  GOD    AVORKS    IN    YOU. 

It  seemed  as  if  such  a  belief  were  tearing  away  the 
very  foundation-stones  of  the  Eternal's  throne. 
Either  St.  Paul  knew  nothing  of  the  stupendous 
topic  upon  which  he  wrote,  or  a  faith  like  this  is  a 
terrible,  terrible  error. 

The  doctrines  of  death-bed  repentances,  of  re- 
generation in  mortal  perils,  of  deliverance  through 
spiritual  convulsions,  of  heaven  taken  by  force  of 
passions  that  rarely  have  value  on  earth,  are  the 
fruits  of  this  faith.  It  disparages  a  serene  life  of 
trust,  patience,  and  duty ;  it  cares  little  for  the 
"  ivorking  out  of  your  own  salvation." 

I  admit  that  regeneration  is  the  result  of  a  super- 
natural force  upon  and  in  the  soul,  and  therefore 
not  to  be  judged  as  from  the  premises  and  sequen- 
ces of  common  experience.  But  even  this  super- 
natural force  has  its  limits,  its  directions,  its  de- 
mands for  cooperative  energy,  its  fitness  for  the  life 
and  soul  of  the  believer,  and  is  not  to  be  looked  upon 
as  an  arbitrary  meteor,  flashing  through  God's  firma- 
ment, falling  under  no  Gospel  law,  and  playing 
mockery  with  the  whole  spiritual  system. 

Let  me  say  this  much  in  admission,  with  respect 
to  the  case  to  which  I  have  alluded.  If  the  reputed 
change  of  that  wretched  man  were  such,  as,  if  he 
had  lived,  would  have  secured  earnest  and  humble 
efforts  after  a  Christ-like  life,  then  that  change  was 
a  transformation  of  soul.  That  such  a  change  may 
have  then  occurred,  or  might  under  similar  circum- 
stances occur,  I  do  not  deny.  But  to  intimate  that 
such  a  case  is  according  to  the  common  law  of 
revelation  is  to  set  an  Egyptian  pyramid  upon  its 


GOD    WORKS    IN    YOU.  91 

apex,  and  say  that  so  its  architect  intended  it  to 
stand. 

But  O  blessed  faith  in  Christ,  as  the  living; 
daily  inspirer  of  the  soul !  Who  can  declare  its 
power,  its  joy,  its  immortal  fruits  I 

Finally,  "  work  out  your  own  salvation  ivith  fear 
and  trembling  ^^ ;  that  is  to  say,  with  deep  and 
solemn  anxiety.  And  you  will  do  this,  when  you 
know  the  value  of  a  life  of  sanctity  and  a  death  of 
disciplined  faith.  In  proportion  as  the  magnitude 
of  your  spiritual  interests  falls  within  your  view 
will  you  feel  an  increasing  solicitude  about  this 
great  work,  for  which  you  were  called  into  being, 
and  for  which  an  immortality  is  granted  you.  That 
you  are  so  bound  to  the  very  spirit  of  God,  in  these 
your  labors,  will  render  them  august,  and  surround 
them  with  hallowed  anxieties ;  and  the  earnestness 
and  watchful  apprehensions  with  which  the  votaries 
of  the  world  seek  their  raiment  and  meat  will  cause 
you  to  reflect  whether  a  similar  devotion  is  not  de- 
manded for  that  "  body  "  which  "  is  more  than  rai- 
ment," and  for  that  "  life "  which  "  is  more  than 
meat." 


se:rmon  III. 


FIDELITY  IN  THE  FEW  THINGS. 


niS  LORD  SAID  UNTO  HIM,  "  WELL  DONE,  GOOD  AND  FAITHFUL 
SERVANT  ;  THOU  HAST  BEEN  FAITHFUL  OVER  A  FEW  THINGS,  I 
WILL  MAKE  THEE  RULER  OVER  MANY  THINGS  ;  ENTER  THOU  INTO 
THE   JOY   OP   THY   LORD."  —  Matthew  XXV.  23. 


Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save  the  whole 
family  of  man.  His  kingdom  must  embrace  Gen- 
tiles and  Jews ;  those  from  the  east  and  from  the 
west,  from  the  north  and  from  the  south,  —  every 
tongue  and  kindred  and  people  and  nation.  The 
providence  of  God  is  every  moment  over  the  whole 
earth  and  all  its  inhabitants.  This  universality  of 
interest,  of  care,  and  of  grace,  is  one  of  the  teach- 
ings of  revelation,  is  one  of  the  marks  of  the 
Fatherhood  of  the  Creator. 

Of  course  all  theories,  treatises,  schemes,  that 
have  for  their  end  the  well-being  of  man,  take  their 
scope  from  the  Gospel ;  that  is,  they  look  to  the 
benefit  of  all  mankind ;  and  some  political  econo- 
mists, making  philanthropy  the  basis  of  their  plans 
and  systems,  would  adjust  them  for  the  benefit  of 
no  one  people,  but  for  the  world  at  large. 

Active  reformers  often  pursue  something  of  this 


FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS.  93 

method.  They  aim  at  the  good  of  large  commu- 
nities ;  they  speak  to  the  ear  of  the  multitude ;  they 
write  for  the  eye  of  the  million.  The  man  of 
abounding  energy  and  large  sympathies,  overleaps 
his  little  domestic  pale,  and  seeks  to  throw  his  ac- 
tivity into  a  broader  sphere. 

Such  aims  are  surely  not  to  be  condemned; 
especially  when  they  spring  from  the  wide  charity  of 
the  religion  of  Christ.  Every  heart  ought  to  enter- 
tain them.  There  are  those  to  whom  such  a  broad 
and  general  field  of  labor  is,  as  it  were,  their  special 
province,  —  possibly,  they  could  work  efficiently 
within  no  narrower  circle ;  if  so,  God  meant  them 
for  just  such  work,  and  just  such  work  for  them. 

But,  ordinarily  speaking,  the  true  theory  of  a  safe 
investment  of  human  labor  is,  that  it  should  be  ap- 
plied to  one  point,  and  within  a  smaller  circle.  No 
human  faculty  is  infinite.  Stretched  too  far,  its 
power  is  exhausted.  The  eye  that  seeks  a  very  wide 
horizon,  sees  distinctly  neither  that  which  is  far  off, 
nor  that  which  is  near.  We  are  very  feeble  creatures ; 
each  one  of  us  is  an  aggregation  of  infirmities ;  yet 
so  bound  together  by  a  mysterious  organism,  that 
acting,  each  of  us  in  his  legitimate  sphere,  we  pos- 
sess powers  of  resistance  and  powers  of  usefulness. 
Acting  beyond  such  a  sphere,  our  infirmities  seem 
to  be  unbound,  and  to  stand  singly  in  their  weak- 
ness and  uselessness  in  the  world's  way. 

It  is  a  common  remark,  that  men  who  engage  in 
many  schemes  fail  in  all.«  Seen  from  a  worldly  point 
of  view,  those  are  the  best  prospered  who  have  not 
scattered  their   capital  or   their   energies   over   too 


94  FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS. 

many  objects.  He  has  become  the  richest  man, 
and  most  securely  rich,  who  acquainted  himself 
with  one  department  of  business,  adhered  to  it, 
gave  to  it  his  time  and  patience  and  sagacity ;  shut 
up  his  hopes  and  fears  within  it,  and  made  sacri- 
fices to  it.  When  he  forsook  the  tried  path  for  a 
wider  area,  the  single  end  for  a  multiplicity  of  ob- 
jects, the  deep  channel  in  which  his  energies  rolled 
on  with  a  strong  current,  for  the  wide  flats  over 
which  they  spread  in  feeble  waves,  he  became 
weak,  distracted,  and  iinjwosperous ;  and  lost,  per- 
haps, all  that  he  had  won,  in  days  of  more  prudent 
activity. 

So  has  it  been  with  all  arts  and  all  professions. 
A  universal  genius  is  rare ;  but  a  universal  genius, 
eminent  in  each  of  many  arts,  and  many  professions, 
has  never  existed.  The  painter,  though  a  being  of 
vivid  imagination,  has  miserably  failed,  when  he  has 
sought  to  throw  his  imagination  into  written  poetry. 
The  poet,  who  has  forsaken  the  epic  or  the  sonnet 
for  the  landscape  or  the  portrait,  has  found  his  fame 
perpetuated,  despite  his  attempts  with  the  brush. 
Modern  peirfection  in  the  mechanic  arts,  progress  in 
inventions  and  sciences,  are  due  to  the  fact  that 
men  are  discovering  the  limitations  of  their  faculties, 
are  dividing  labor  into  sections,  and  are  giving  to 
such  sections  the  whole  of  what  was  once  dis- 
tributed over  the  entire  field  of  labor. 

We  turn  now  from  these  general  observations  to 
the  consideration  of  our  personal  moral  duty ;  and 
it  seems  to  me,  that  our  charge  upon  the  earth  is,  to 
be  faithful  to  a  few  things.     We  may  look  abroad 


FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS.  95 

upon  this  world,  and  especially  with  a  Christian 
light  falling  upon  the  field  of  vision,  we  may  see 
many  painful  objects,  many  corrupt  usages,  many 
social  evils,  wicked  systems  and  institutions;  great 
curses,  lying  in  the  public  habit  or  passions  or  appe- 
tite or  ignorance,  and  we  may  say.  Let  us  help  to 
do  away  these  things,  —  let  us  make  an  inroad  into 
this  dominion  of  Satan,  and  rescue  some  victims 
from  his  grasp.  Let  us  read  upon  these  subjects, 
let  us  write  upon  them,  let  us  give  money  for  deliv- 
erance from  these  evils,  let  us  plan  and  agitate  to  de- 
stroy them,  let  us  imitate  the  good  providence  of 
God,  which  dispenses  its  blessings  through  all  zones 
and  over  all  tribes.  But  I  repeat,  again,  we  are  in- 
firm creatures;  we  cannot  take  the  world  in  our 
arms,  they  are  short  and  weak.  The  first  law  of 
our  life,  the  only  certainty  of  doing  anything  with 
success,  lies  in  learning  our  appointed  field  of  duty, 
in  determining  what  are  the  few  things  which  God 
has  laid  before  us  as  the  work  of  life ;  then  in  bend- 
ing to  that  work  the  muscle  of  the  body,  the  zeal  of 
the  heart,  and  the  faith  of  the  soul. 

There  is  nothing  in  this  limitation  of  industry 
that  encourages  the  selfish  idea.  I  do  not  say  that 
we  must  begin  with  ourselves,  continue  with  our- 
selves, end  with  ourselves,  for  this  would  be  faith- 
lessness to  the  few  things  that  God  gives  us.  This 
narrow  circle,  in  which  I  maintain  our  chief  duties 
lie,  may  and  must  involve  thoughtfulness  of  others, 
and  sacrifice  of  self.  It  is  only  circumscribing  the 
pool,  so  that  you  may  agitate  the  waters  all  the 
more  thoroughly  for  others'  healing.     And  this  high 


96  FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS. 

blessing  attends  such  fidelity  in  the  few  things, 
that,  despite  your  very  self,  your  success  here  is  your 
most  emphatic  success  abroad  and  elsewhere. 

Still,  here  is  one  of  ambitious  energy,  who  is  dis- 
posed to  complain  and  say,  "  The  world  is  given  me 
to  plough  and  sow  my  seed  in,  and  gather  my  har- 
vests from  ;  I  can  do  nothing  with  this  little  patch  of 
soil."  Let  me  reply  to  him,  "  Take  your  spade  in 
hand,  go  out  upon  that  little  patch  of  soil,  and  turn 
it  into  a  garden,  and  let  your  neighbor  do  so  on  your 
right  hand,  and  your  neighbor  on  your  left  hand,  and 
the  whole  world  will  become  a  garden,  blooming 
with  flowers  and  bending  with  fruits.  There  is  a 
peculiar  power  in  working  within  modest  limits. 
Your  industry  is  an  example,  your  patience  and 
method  are  contagious,  while  you  do  not  impair  your 
influence  by  awakening  a  sense  of  intrusion. 

Life  offers  boundless  illustrations  of  this  thought. 
Imagine  a  state,  in  which  the  desire  is  to  realize  the' 
highest  advantages  of  a  political  community.  What 
constitution,  however  wise  and  liberal ;  what  civic 
organization,  embracing  courts  and  police  ;  what  so- 
cial methods,  in  the  way  of  associations  and  fraterni- 
ties ;  what  aids  and  instrumentalities  of  any  form  could 
so  perfect  such  a  state,  as  the  assigning  to  every  man 
his  duty,  and  every  woman  her  duty,  and  bidding 
them  be  faithful  to  the  few  things  over  which  they  were 
set  ?  You  might  constitute  all  the  citizens  a  committee 
of  vigilance  over  each  other  ;  you  might  enjoin  upon 
each  one  to  take  care  that  the  republic  received  no  det- 
riment ;  yet  you  might  produce  nothing  but  anarchy 
and  ruin.     But  you  could  not  make  the  citizen  a 


FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS.  97 

committee  of  vigilance  over  himself,  and  secure  his 
diligence  that  none  around  him  failed  of  the  blessings 
which  his  care  and  labor  could  produce,  without 
making  a  happy  community  and  a  perfect  state. 
Indeed,  this  would  be  social  perfection,  almost 
without  a  state.  The  machinery  of  government 
in  this  case  would  be  simply  a  matter  of  conven- 
ience. 

Take  any  one  of  the  professions,  —  the  legal,  for 
example.  Here  is  a  lawyer  who  has  the  noblest  ap- 
preciation of  his  calling.  He  reverences  law,  as  the 
embodiment  of  the  progressive  wisdom,  and  the 
careful  experiment  of  past  and  present  times.  He 
sees  it  as  that  invisible  force  that  guards  the  order 
and  peace  of  communities.  He  sees  it  as  the  de- 
fence of  justice  and  of  liberty.  He  would  spread  its 
power,  he  would  establish  it  in  the  reverence  of  so- 
ciety, he  would  rescue  it  from  the  hands  that  would 
discrown  it  and  make  it  minister  to  selfish  aggran- 
dizement or  to  cupidity.  He  would  do  this  for  the 
good-will  he  bears  to  the  world.  What  seems  to  be 
his  duty,  with  such  views?  How  could  he  most 
effectually  accomplish  his  noble  end  ?  Not  by  lec- 
turing on  the  ethics  of  jurisprudence  ;  not  by  a  peri-' 
patetic  crusade  against  the  low  motives  and  mean 
shifts  in  legal  practice ;  but  by  setting  the  example 
of  his  own  loyalty  to  the  divinity  whose  minister  he 
is ;  by  embodying  in  his  life  the  spirit  of  that  glori- 
ous system  of  which  he  is  a  functionary  and  a  rep- 
resentative ;  by  being  faithful  throughout  his  whole 
course,  from  the  filling  of  the  smallest  writ  to  the  de- 
livery  of   the  weightiest   plea,  —  to  the  canons  of 


98  FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS. 

uprightness  and  equity,  which  the  law  virtually  em- 
bodies. Such  a  man  carries  sanctity  into  a  court; 
inspires  juries  with  principle  ;  embarrasses  and  de- 
feats fraud ;  shames  the  disloyal ;  and  circulates 
something  of  his  own  noble  purpose  through  every 
artery  of  this  great  system  of  justice. 

And  he  does  more  than  this.  His  position  is  one 
oi  far-reaching-  power.  He  teaches  the  community. 
His  fidelity  in  a  feiv  things  is  his  rule  over  many 
things.  Every  profession  is  purified  by  him.  Every 
trade  is  blessed  by  him.  His  life  is  a  better  tract 
than  he  could  write.  His  integrity  and  purity  are 
better  benefactors  of  his  race  than  if  he  went  about 
scattering  broadcast  the  words  and  deeds  of  a  general 
philanthropy. 

Again,  who  is  the  best  conservator  of  probity  and 
of  exact  justice  in  dealings  between  man  and  man? 
Who  can  most  faithfully  instruct  as  to  the  sacred- 
ness  of  property  ?  Who  can  most  effectually  weaken 
the  selfish  principle  in  the  community  ?  Who,  above 
all  others,  can  establish  usages  that  shall  secure  pru- 
dence and  moderation  in  enterprise,  caution  in  incur- 
ring responsibilities,  promptness  in  the  discharge  of 
debts,  a  considerate  and  liberal  spirit  in  all  pecuniary 
transactions  ?  I  answer,  the  punctual,  conscientious, 
humane  merchant.  If  every  merchant,  from  the 
heaviest  importer  to  the  pettiest  retailer,  were  to 
labor  by  the  law  of  exact  justice  and  of  kindly  ac- 
commodation, how  would  the  whole  mercantile  sys- 
tem become  a  network  of  uprightness,  and  benevo- 
lence even,  to  entangle  the  fraudulent  and  the  selfish ! 
A  single  pattern  of  incorruptible  honesty  through  all 


FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS.  99 

varieties  of  mercantile  intercourse  is  a  constant  in- 
spirer  of  upright  intention.  It  straightens  many  a 
path  which  would  be  otherwise  tortuous.  It  but- 
tresses many  a  tottering  conscience,  and  it  sends  out 
its  influence  through  buyers  or  sellers,  —  sometimes 
forward,  through  their  methods  of  traffic,  and  some- 
times backward,  into  the  dealings  of  the  household: 
Let  the  young  men  that  serve  him  as  apprentices 
and  clerks  find  a  discipline  for  their  moral  natures 
in  the  unspoken  lessons  of  his  daily  scrupulousness; 
and,  instead  of  becoming  familiarized  with  artifices, 
whose  success  is  to  be  their  gain,  they  are  taught 
that  gain  purchased  by  such  artifices  is  dishonor  and 
guilt. 

In  short,  practical  honesty  has  no  better  helper  on 
the  earth  than  such  a  merchant.  Reproaches  go 
forth  from  him  against  tricks  and  shufflings  of  every 
sort,  and  in  all  callings.  While  he  apparently  con- 
veys the  necessaries  or  the  luxuries  of  life  from  the 
producer  to  the  consumer,  he  is  in  truth  also  circu- 
lating a  living  sense  of  justice  and  of  mutual  obli- 
gation. 

The  same  principle  applies  to  the  ministerial  pro- 
fession. He  most  helps  the  boundless  kingdom  of 
Christ  who  most  faithfully  labors  in  the  little  prov- 
ince of  his  own  parish.  All  ecclesiastical  organiza- 
tions, in  which  pastors  of  churches  might  engage  ; 
all  associative  enterprises,  for  whatever  purposes, 
whether  for  the  spread  of  doctrine,  or  the  diffusion  of 
practical  truth,  or  relief  from  infirmity  and  peril,  or 
deliverance  from  crime,  can  accomplish  their  high 
ends  with  less  certainty  than  can  the  pastors  indi- 


100  FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS. 

vidually,  by  their  faithful  spiritual  ministrations 
among  their  own  people. 

Suppose,  for  a  moment,  that  every  Christian  teach- 
er throughout  this  our  land  had  no  other  end  in  view 
than  the  spiritual  regeneration  of  the  souls  under  his 
care,  no  lateral  issues  to  distract  him,  no  merely  sec- 
tarian methods  or  ends  to  forward,  no  desire  to  build 
up  himself  or  his  people  except  upon  the  ruins  of  un- 
godliness and  error,  —  build  them  up  in  the  power  of 
a  charitable,  pure,  devout,  and  self-denying  Gospel. 
Who  could  tell  the  result  in  all  the  highest  graces 
and  the  widest  triumphs  of  Christianity  ? 

Providence  conveys  unmistakable  intimations  of 
the  direction  and  sphere  of  our  several  duties.  Every 
one  is  appointed  a  feio  things  for  his  oversight  in 
life.  There  is,  as  we  have  seen,  the  special  calling  of 
the  individual,  and  there  is,  moreover,  the  home  with 
which  the  individual  is  connected ;  and  still  further, 
there  is  the  individual  himself.  These  are,  so  to 
speak,  microscopic  circles  of  labor  and  responsibil- 
ity ;  but,  taken  together,  these  circles  fill  out  the  sur- 
face of  all  human  interests,  and  cover  the  whole  area 
upon  which  God's  earthly  providence  falls. 

To  you,  then,  whatever  be  your  calling,  however, 
in  your  own  view,  humble  and  limited,  however 
cramping  and  disagreeable,  and  poor  of  recompense, 
still,  make  that  calling,  so  long  as  you  are  in  it,  your 
moral  field.  There  are  the  "  few  things  "  over  w^hich 
God  has  set  you  stewards.  In  that  calling  you  may 
grow  inwardly  noble,  or  inwardly  mean  and  selfish  ; 
you  may  fit  yourself  for  holy  communings  or  foul 
companionship.     If  no  other  living  creature  be  inter- 


FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS.  101 

ested  in  or  connected  with  its  vocation  (which  is  not 
probable),  its  moral  significancy  is  not  thereby  de- 
stroyed, nor  are  its  moral  facilities  worthless  ;  iox  you 
are  connected  with  it,  and  others  are  connected  with 
you  ;  and  you  have  a  heart  to  watch  over  and  a  soul 
to  save,  and  so  have  they. 

Occasionally,  in  the  experience  of  life,  instances 
are  met  with  of  such  an  interpretation  of  the  nar- 
rowest and  hardest  lot  as  actually  transfigures  the 
most  repulsive  forms  of  labor,  an  interpretation  as 
luminous  among  the  common  views  of  toil  as  is  the 
candle  in  a  dark  place.  There  is  no  Apostle  of  the 
highest  charities  upon  earth,  who  might  not  receive 
inspiration  from  this  lowly  faith.  "  To  think,"  once 
said,  in  substance,  a  poor  creature,  "  that  God  does 
not  disdain  to  train  up  my  soul  for  everlasting  life,  by 
means  of  these  my  poor  cares  and  hard  toils  !  Here 
I  can  '  do  justly,  love  mercy,  and  walk  humbly  before 
God,'  and  here  the  light  of  my  Saviour  shines  to  help 
me."  And  while  she  thus  walked  in  righteousness, 
who  can  tell  how  far  her  "  little  candle  threw  its 
beams,"  how  much  richer  the  world  was  for  her  good- 
ness and  her  faith,  how  much  she  had  helped  its 
dwellers  to  find  the  kingdom  of  God. 

But  further  ;  God  has  connected  the  most  of  you 
with  homes.  Through  these,  you  are  indissolubly 
related  to  others.  Woman,  within  this  sphere  lie 
most  o{  your  coxes  and  responsibilities.  Within  this 
beautiful,  this  holy  sphere !  Are  there  any  of  you 
who  ever  think  that,  because  your  homes  are  not 
splendid,  therefore  they  are  of  inferior  quality  in  the 
eye  of  God  ?  and  that,  therefore,  all  that  is  lovely 


102  FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS. 

and  noble  and  heavenly  cannot  be  developed  within 
them  ?  Has  that  babe  that  lies  upon  your  knee  the 
less  of  a  soul  than  if  its  parents  were  crowned  mon- 
archs,  and  its  attendants  were  peers  ?  Does  God 
love  it  the  less  ?  Does  he  spend  his  providence  upon 
it  the  less  ?  Did  the  Saviour  die  for  it  the  less  ? 
You  may  be  poor,  but  because  of  this  are  you  insen- 
sible to  all  the  hopes  and  fears,  all  the  anxieties,  all 
the  joys  and  griefs,  that  so  solemnly  and  so  awfully 
agitate  life  ?  No !  there  is  a  comfort  or  two  less 
among  the  provisions  of  your  household,  there  is  a 
luxury  or  two  less  to  satisfy  your  artificial  desires, 
there  is  a  spangle  or  two  less  upon  your  garments, 
to  feed  your  vanity,  —  but  yom*  moral  texture  is  as 
rich  a  velvet  in  the  sight  of  God  as  is  the  tissue 
of  a  royal  soul ;  and  his  angels  have  as  earnest 
a  charge  concerning  you  as  concerning  the  rulers 
of  empire. 

The  round  of  your  cares  is  wearisome.  Some  of 
these  cares  seem  petty  and  purely  mechanical ;  and 
as  a  mere  matter  of  discrimination,  you  may  call 
them  drudgery.  But  I  say  first,  if  these  duties  are 
necessary,  and  must  be  done  by  you,  let  them  not  be 
annoying  through  your  querulousness,  nor  dull  be- 
cause you  will  not  seek  to  read  their  meaning.  They 
will  find  even  beauty  from  the  light  of  the  Gospel. 
Think  of  them,  as  a  part  of  the  training-service 
of  your  tempers,  of  your  contentment,  and  of  your 
faith.  This  earth  needs  every  pebble  upon  its  sur- 
face, to  keep  its  balance  in  its  great  path  around  the 
sun.  So  God  has  ordained  for  our  souls  these  small 
cares,  to  keep  them  true  to  their  orbit  around  him- 
self. 


FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS.  103 

And  with  respect  to  these  trifling  or  unattractive 
duties,  I  say,  secondly,  that  they  are  interlaced  with 
so  much  of  higher  import,  that  they  are  really  less 
than  the  woof  of  domestic  life ;  the  warp  of  the  ten- 
der relations  and  the  vital  responsibilities  remains. 
While  your  hands  do  these  things,  your  hearts  may 
nourish  the  affections  of  the  wife  or  the  mother, 
the  sister  or  the  daughter  or  the  friend  ;  and  if  it 
become  a  principle  and  a  purpose  with  you,  you 
may,  in  most  cases,  make  these  high  relations 
lighten  and  diversify  and  consecrate  all  lower  ne- 
cessities. 

And  here  let  me  say,  that  I  have  no  disposition 
to  consider  the  burden  of  home  cares  as  falling  ex- 
clusively upon  you.  Home  seems  to  me  peculiarly 
woman's  empire,  an  empire  which  probably  neither 
conventidns,  nor  even  statutes  granting  equality  of 
civil  and  political  rights,  will  ever  seriously  shake,  — 
but  to  a  certain  extent,  an  extent  of  kindliness  of 
sympathy,  counsel,  self-control,  of  measurable  parti- 
cipation, man  must  lighten  the  home  burdens  of  the 
woman.  They  are  his  burdens  also,  —  he  is  ac- 
countable for  the  way  they  are  borne.  He  should 
not  be  an  appendage  to  the  home,  but  a  main  branch 
of  its  trunk.  Its  whole  interests  should  circulate 
through  his  pulses,  and  whatever  withers  its  happi- 
ness should  make  his  spirits  droop. 

Were  we  all  but  faithful  to  the  "  few  things " 
gathered  up  within  our  homes,  —  faithful  in  the 
training  of  our  children,  —  faithful  in  our  shows  of 
mutual  consideration  and  kindness,  —  faithful  in  our 
example  of  good  temper  and  self-restriction,  —  faith- 


104  FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS. 

ful  in  the  discharge  of  recurrent  tasks,  faithful  to 
the  religious  obligations  enfolded  with  such  beauty 
and  power  within  this  sheltered  circle ;  how  could 
we  rule  this  great  earth  in  virtue,  how  would 
each  household  thus  offer  to  the  Saviour  a  place 
wherein  to  lay  his  head,  and  a  province  wherein  to 
reign. 

Finally,  all  the  suggestions  of  this  discourse  cul- 
minate in  their  application  to  the  individual.     As 
"  the  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom," 
so  is  the  securing  personal  righteousness  the  fountain 
whence  all  directions  of  goodness  flow.     You  have 
felt  it  to  be  vanity  itself  to  hope  for  any  adequate 
fulfilment  of  domestic  relations,  or  for  any  sufficient 
fidelity  to  the  opportunities  and  claims  of  any  voca- 
tion, unless  you  yourselves  have  first  come  into  per- 
sonal relations  with  God,  as  the  purifier  of  the  heart, 
and  the  strengthener  of  our  infirmities.     It  is  not 
that  you  should  seek  to  do  all  these  things  as  if 
thereby  to  merit  his  approval,  —  but  it  is,  that  you 
must  first  dwell  as  in  his  presence,  lay  your  infirm- 
ities at  his  feet ;  see  and  feel  your  sinfulness,  pray 
to  be  kept  alive  by  his  grace,  and  guided  every  in- 
stant by  his  holy  spirit,  in  order  that  you  may  there- 
after be  faithful  to  the  things  over  which  he  appoints 
you,  whether  of  your  home,  or  of  your  vocation. 
All   success  is  centred  in  this  first  attitude  before 
God.     You  as  much  need  the  daily  prayer  to  nour- 
ish your  various  purposes  of  fidelity  as  your  bodies 
need  the  daily  meal  to  sustain  your  physical  func- 
tions.    And  to  bring  you  into  this  attitude,  Christ 
shows  you  his  everlasting  truths,  portrays  your  des- 


FIDELITY    IN    THE    FEW    THINGS.  105 

tiny,  and  reveals  the  law  of  a  just  God,  and  the 
grace  of  a  benignant  God  ;  and  seals  his  teachings 
and  his  love,  —  a  Father's  teachings  and  a  Father's 
love,  "  by  his  own  most  precious  blood." 


SERMON    IV. 


THE    CIIRISTS   OF    THE  WORLD. 

CHKIST   IN   TOU   THE   HOPE   OF   GLORY. — ColoSSianS   i.    27. 

A  LITERAL  interpretation  of  the  text  is  evidently 
impossible.  Nor  do  I  suppose  it  involves  a  literal 
interpretation  in  any  mysterious  sense,  further  than 
all  faith,  all  divine  influences  are  mysterious. 

By  common  Hebrew  idiom,  the  teacher  is  put  for 
the  thing  taught.  And  some  will  maintain  that  in 
the  text  Christ  is  put  for  Christian,  doctrine  for  the 
Gospel.  And  can  you  doubt  that,  with  such  a  sub- 
stitution, the  Apostle's  premises  would  be  substan- 
tially occupied,  and  his  conclusions  would  be  sub- 
stantially reached  ?  For,  let  any  one  of  you  possess, 
—  have  within  you,  —  Christianity,  this  divine,  eter- 
nal root  of  sanctity  and  blessedness,  and  would  you 
have  no  hope  of  glory  ?  would  not  glory  beam 
through  every  chamber  of  your  soul  ?  would  not  the 
bliss  of  heaven  fill  your  heart  ? 

Yet  this  interpretation  does  not  seem  to  exhaust 
the  whole  signification  of  the  clause.  The  analogy 
of  other  expressions  used  by  Paul  justifies,  perhaps 
requires,  a  less  abstract  rendering  of  the  text. 


THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD.  107 

It  is  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  Christianity  as  a 
system  is  in  fact  but  an  aggregate  of  the  precepts  re- 
volving around  the  person  of  their  author.  If  you 
speak  of  Plato's  teachings,  or  of  Aristotle's,  or  of 
Swedenborg's,  you  have  the  whole  matter  before 
you.  You  may  forget,  and  generally  do  forget,  the 
philosophers  who  promulged  those  systems.  But 
you  cannot  separate  Christ  from  Christianity.  Chris- 
tianity is  a  sort  of  function  of  Christ.  It  is,  as  it 
were,  the  attributes  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  The  mind 
has  a  constant  attraction  away  from  the  precepts 
uttered  to  their  glorious  embodiment  in  the  Son  of 
God,  away  from  the  mute  record  to  the  speaking 
life.  You  cannot  dissociate  the  petal  from  its  hue, 
the  flame  from  its  heat,  —  so  I  have  always  felt  the 
impossibility  of  dissevering  Jesus  of  Nazareth  from 
his  Gospel. 

And  so  Paul  manifestly  felt,  and  wrote  correspond- 
ingly. Therefore,  to  the  power  of  mere  precept,  ut- 
tered and  recorded,  which  we  may  admit  Christian- 
ity to  be,  we  must  add  the  perpetual  action  of  the 
Author  of  Christianity  on  our  souls,  as  it  were  the 
influence  of  a  personal  presence,  —  the  living  into 
ourselves  of  his  own  being. 

I  have  now  presented,  as  I  think,  the  Apostle's 
meaning.  The  "  hope  of  glory  "  depends  upon  a 
right  reception  of  Christ,  as  the  incarnation  of  the 
Gospel  system,  as  (through  the  medium  of  his  per- 
sonal being)  the  living  outflow  of  its  divine  charac- 
teristics. 

Instead,  however,  of  what  I  have  termed  the 
"right  reception   of   Christ,"   as  necessary   to   this 


108  THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD. 

great  end,  I  will,  for  the  purposes  of  this  discourse, 
employ  the  phrase,  the  reception  of  the  right  Christ. 

But,  is  Christ  divided  ?  Not  by  himself,  but  the 
world  and  the  Church  divide  him.  The  true  light 
of  the  sun  is  the  unresolved,  unobstructed  white 
beam  ;  not  prismatic  hues,  not  rays,  passing  through 
mists  or  dust  or  colored  media.  So  there  is  but  one 
Christ,  whom  a  dissentient  world  has  presented 
under  antagonistic  forms.  And  perhaps  the  saddest 
fact  that  can  be  discovered  with  respect  to  the  many 
Christs  that  have  been  adopted  as  leaders  of  opinion 
is,  that,  unlike  the  prismatic  rays  which,  united,  con- 
stitute the  solar  beam,  the  several  Christs  conjoined 
cannot  make  the  Lord  from  heaven. 

"Who,  then,  are  these  various  Christs,  supposed  by 
those  who  adopt  them  to  be  to  each  respectively  the 
"  hope  of  glory  "  ? 

I  shall  call  them,  for  convenience'  sake,  and  with 
no  pretension  to  philosophic  accuracy,  the  Historic 
Christ,  the  Dogmatic  Christ,  the  JEsthetic  Christ,  the 
Reformatory  Christ.  And  I  shall  finally  speak  of 
the  Sjnritual  Christ  as  the  true  Head  of  the  Church, 
as  "  the  Lord  from  heaven." 

Taking  together  for  an  instant,  in  order  to  em- 
brace them  by  a  common  observation,  the  Historic, 
the  Dogmatic,  the,  JEsthetic,  the  Reformatory  Christs, 
it  may  be  said  that  this  deficiency  pertains  to  them 
all.  They  demand  little  or  none  of  that  higher 
action  of  the  soul,  commonly  styled  a  religious  faith. 
They  all  act  horizontally  on  the  mind  or  heart,  as  if 
they  stood  on  an  earthly  human  level.  Their  attrac- 
tion is  not  toward  the  skies,  as  the  realm  of  spiritual 


THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD.  109 

truth,  and  as  the  home  of  God.  And  as  the  glory 
of  which  the  Apostle  speaks  is  something  above  and 
beyond  any  terrestrial  product,  it  may  be  inferred 
that  no  one  of  these  Christs  can  be  to  the  soul  the 
hope  of  that  glory. 

1.  Let  us  first  consider  the  Historic  Christ. 

This  form  in  which  Christ  so  commonly^appears 
is  one  of  the  lowest,  yet  it  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant, and  for  this  reason,  that  it  lies  at  the  bottom 
of  all  others,  sustains  not  only  the  least  estimable, 
but  the  noblest  forms  of  the  Christ.  Just  as  you 
might  say  of  a  tower,  strong,  yet  low,  on  which  is 
built  the  lofty  signal  that  guides  mariner  and  travel- 
ler. That  tower,  of  itself,  indicates  no  dangers,  and 
points  out  no  path  of  safety;  yet  on  it  rests  firmly 
the  beacon  that  does  warn  from  peril  and  invite  to 
security. 

There  is  a  school  of  critics  who  reject  the  Christ 
of  the  Gospel  histories,  and  who,  therefore,  can  re- 
ceive no  other  Christ.  These  found  their  sceptical 
conclusions,  I  presume,  on  what  they  deem  sufficient 
evidence.  It  is  not  in  point  to  speak  at  length  of 
these  doubters.  I  allude  to  them  only  to  say  that 
nominal  Christian  believers  are  ready  to  confront 
their  opinions  by  an  array  of  learning,  or  by  zealous 
declarations  of  an  unshaken  evangelical  faith.  Yet 
of  this  phalanx  of  Gospel  confessors  many  are  no 
better  men,  no  better  practisers  of  Christian  morals, 
than  some  of  those  whose  convictions  they  oppose. 

In  other  words,  a  mere  defence  of  the  Historic 
Christ  does  not  make  one  a  Christian,  does  not  enti- 
tle him  to  the  "  hope  of  glory,"  except,  perhaps,  of  a 

10 


110  THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD. 

glory  similar  in  kind  —  superior,  possibly,  in  quality 
—  to  that  which  Henry  the  Eighth  acquired  from 
Leo  for  his  defence  of  papacy  against  Luther. 

To  be  placed  in  a  historic  relation  to  Christ  is 
merely  to  stand  upon  an  eminence  and  to  say,  "  I 
see  such  and  such  things."  The  question  is,  sight  or 
no  sight.  The  point  is.  Historic  credence  or  historic 
doubt.  With  the  exception  that  the  facts  to  be  de- 
termined are  of  superior  magnitude  to  other  facts, 
you  might  as  well  agitate  the  question  whether  Ig- 
natius wrote  all  the  epistles  imputed  to  him,  or 
whether  Phcenician  navigators  scrawled  the  hiero- 
glyphics on  the  Dighton  rock. 

A  man's  motive  powers,  the  affections  that  turn 
the  great  wheel  of  the  will,  are  near  the  base  of  the 
being.  They  have  the  foundation-chamber  to  them- 
selves. Historic  teachings  are  only  light  let  into  the 
front  and  upper  rooms  of  the  feeling,  working  man  ; 
and  mere  light  moves  nothing.  If  light  be  followed 
by  faith,  and  faith  by  love,  then  it  is  like  raising  the 
gate  whose  lever  the  light  discloses,  and  letting  in, 
through  subterraneous  channels,  the  waters  that  are 
to  give  impulse  to  the  volitions,  and  set  into  opera- 
tion the  spiritual  machinery. 

Probably,  you  all  receive  tKe  Historic  Christ.  You 
look  with  distrust,  with  something  of  dread,  perhaps, 
upon  one  who  says,  "  There  was  no  such  Christ  as 
the  Gospels  represent."  But  does  this,  your  historic 
belief,  enfold  a  "  hope  of  glory  "  ?  In  disputation 
with  a  doubter,  would  the  fire  of  your  zeal  be  the 
fervor  of  a  heart-faith  ?  Do  you  derive  any  appre- 
ciable comfort,  or  any  practical  guidance,  from  what 


THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD.  Ill 

you  hold  as  the  Gospel  History  ?  Are  the  Saviour's 
words  vague  imaginings,  or  are  they  verities,  to  which 
your  conduct,  conversation,  desires,  destiny,  are  in- 
separable, are  eternally  linked  ?  As  your  eye  notes 
the  rebukes  which  he  uttered  against  sin,  do  you  ever 
conjecture  that  he  meant  your  sin  ?  Or,  do  his  dis- 
closures of  a  judgment  to  come  enkindle  any  sense 
of  peril  in  your  own  souls  ? 

I  cannot  dwell  upon  this  topic  longer  than  to  say. 
When  God  gives  facts  for  you  to  credit  he  expects 
from  you  a  spirit  wherewith  to  interpret  them.  The 
facts  without  the  spirit  are  like  the  lyre  and  the  plec- 
trum without  a  hand  to  bring  them  into  contact. 
Or  if  you  seize  the  facts,  to  make  them  give  forth 
any  other  than  their  true  divine  meaning,  it  is  as  if 
you  struck  the  wires  of  the  instrument,  not  to  evoke 
their  harmonies,  but  to  prove  that  sound  may  result 
from  vibrations  of  a  string. 

2.  We  will  now  look  at  another  Christ. 

There  was  a  Being  of  unsullied  perfection,  of  gra- 
cious demeanor,  of  an  outflowing  love,  who  once 
appeared  among  the  tribes  of  Palestine.  His  words 
were  a  message  from  God ;  his  life  was  an  embodi- 
ment and  an  illustration  of  the  message.  He  was 
simple  and  direct.  There  was  a  heavenly  power  in 
his  acts  and  in  his  presence.  There  was  no  mind, 
docile  and  devout,  that  could  not  understand  him  ; 
no  soul,  receptive  of  his  spirit,  that  did  not  shine  in 
his  beauty  and  bathe  in  his  peace.  Contention,  sor- 
row, and  dread  shrank  from  his  presence,  or  in  it 
were  beguiled  of  their  stings,  and  the  believing 
earthly  was  transfigured  into  the  heavenly. 


112  THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD. 

And  there  was  another  being,  born  of  a  later  age, 
and  in  a  different  region,  the  offspring  of  speculation, 
of  philosophy,  of  the  cloister.  The  sharpness  of 
logic  was  in  his  mouth,  and  fine-edged  subtleties 
were  set  around  his  cardinal  tenets.  He  was  many- 
sided  in  aspect,  and  changed  his  form  with  territory 
and  with  time.  In  Egypt,  he  wore  one  appearance, 
with  Clement;  in  Asia,  another,  with  Theophilus ; 
in  Carthage,  another,  with  TertuUian  ;  in  Greece, 
another,  with  Athenagoras.  He  was  always  present 
at  councils  to  settle  opinions  for  the  world.  At  Nice, 
he  anathematized  Arius.  At  Tyre,  he  thundered 
against  Athanasius.  At  Sardica,  he  severed  the 
Eastern  from  the  Western  Churches.  At  Constanti- 
nople, he  provided  fresh  articles  of  faith,  to  meet 
every  form  of  heresy  that  had  arisen  since  the  Nicene 
decision.  And  thus  he  went  on,  instigating  hatreds, 
persecutions,  and  schisms. 

It  was  this  being  who  invented  the  wheel  and  the 
thumb-screw.  He  built  the  dungeons  of  the  Inqui- 
sition, and  kindled  the  fagots  of  the  Auto  da  fe. 
His  letters-patent  were  confiscatory  edicts  and  de- 
crees of  exile.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  to  frame  a 
creed  ;  when  he  acted,  it  was  to  execute,  in  defence 
of  that  creed,  penal  statutes.  He  alone  ever  inter- 
preted sternness  of  conscience  and  depth  of  faith  as 
crimes  to  be  expiated  by  blood.  None  but  him  ever 
made  that  path  of  experience,  that  should  be  one  of 
earthly  quiet  and  of  heavenly  peace,  a  path  of  end- 
less embarrassment  or  of  crushing  sorrow. 

It  is  this  grim  disturber  that  has  everywhere  turned 
the  supernatural  grace  that  heals  into  the  diabolic 


THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD.  113 

power  that  rends  ;  that  calls  down  fire  from  heaven, 
not  as  a  Pentecostal  inspiration,  but  as  a  consuming 
flash.  He  yet  counsels  and  holds  partial  rule  in  the 
world.  He  has  some  sure  retreats  within  the  general 
Church.  Now  and  then  he  rejoices  to  seize  the 
crosier,  now  and  then  to  float  in  lawn,  now  and 
then  to  fulminate  from  the  pulpit ;  now  and  then  he 
dooms  in  the  tract.  Here  he  rivets  bonds  around 
the  professor's  understanding,  and  tethers  the  stu- 
dent's intellect  to  shrivelled  conceptions ;  there  he 
sits  in  the  editor's  chair,  and  dispenses  perdition  to 
heretics. 

Sometimes,  at  the  communion-table,  he  refuses  to 
entreating  disciples  the  "  body  and  blood "  of  the 
Lord.  He  denies  the  name  of  Christian  to  blame- 
less and  Christ-loving  men ;  and  often  withholds 
the  courtesies  of  life  and  the  responsibilities  of 
distinguished  duties  from  brethren  who  see  not 
with  his  eyes  and  comprehend  not  with  his  under- 
standing. 

But  praise  be  to  God !  this  once  so  formidable  ad- 
versary hath  little  else  than  his  ancient  spirit  left,  nor 
this  in  its  ancient  measure.  The  sword  has  been 
shivered  in  his  grasp ;  the  state  has  disclaimed  his 
remorseless  alliance ;  and  only  over  petty  domains 
and  through  inferior  instrumentalities  does  he  now 
seek  to  exercise  authority. 

I  have  not  yet  named  the  being  who  has  for  so 
many  ages  been  this  chief  counsellor,  as  this  chief 
executor  of  evil ;  but  before  this  you  have  named 
him,  —  the  Dogmatic  Christ. 

My  hearers,  can  a  hope  of  glory  abound  in  that 

10* 


114  THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD. 

breast  which  this  Christ  fills  ?  If  so,  define  that 
glory. 

With  respect  to  the  victims  of  dogmatism  every- 
where, nature  will  dictate  resistance  to  intolerance  as 
men,  yet  grace  must  prescribe  forbearance  as  Chris- 
tians. For  as  the  Jews  who  crucified  the  Lord 
knew  not  what  they  did,  so  they  who  tread  with  the 
heel  on  honest  consciences,  who  seek  to  trample  out 
convictions  by  trampling  on  rights,  must  surely  know 
not  what  they  do. 

Let  us,  then,  beware  how  we  embrace  the  Dog- 
matic Christ  for  the  true  Christ ;  for  Beelzebub  was 
not  more  the  Messiah's  foe  than  is  this  false  Christ 
the  foe  of  the  genuine  Christ.  The  Saviour  said, 
"  For  many  shall  come  in  my  name,  saying,  '  I  am 
he,'  but  do  not  follow  them."  This  is  one  of  those 
lying  Messiahs.  And,  in  fact,  he  has  done  more  to 
expel  the  true  Christ  from  the  affections  .of  real  be- 
lievers, and  to  banish  from  reflective  minds  a  belief 
in  the  Historic  Christ,  which  is  at  the  foundation  of 
all  faith,  than  all  other  causes  united.  The  combined 
sin  of  the  world  has  not  so  glorified  the  career  of 
Satan  or  so  obstructed  the  progress  of  the  Church. 
Give  to  every  man  his  liberty  of  conscience,  and  to 
your  own  conscience  give  no  liberti/.  Overcome  er- 
ror, if  you  may,  by  argument ;  defend  and  propagate 
your  convictions ;  but  aim  at  a  holier  victory  than 
that  of  mere  opinion.  God  save  you  from  the  Dog-- 
matic  Christ. 

3.  I  come,  now,  in  the  third  place,  to  speak  of  the 
/Esthetic  Christ,  —  the  Christ  of  the  ideal  faculty. 

I  suppose   it   is   undeniable   that   there   is  a  re- 


THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD.  115 

gion  round  about  the  heart  and  conscience  that 
has  little  to  do  with  either ;  a  sort  of  midway 
sphere  between  the  dull  solidity  of  the  senses  and 
the  etherial  realm  of  the  spirit.  It  is  within  these 
intermediate  limits  that  the  Esthetic  Christ  seems 
to  dwell.  And  because  he  stands  above  the  coarse- 
ness of  the  vulgar  taste,  and  above  the  level  of  the 
grosser  vices,  he  is  sometimes  thought  to  possess  a 
religious  purity,  and  to  be  of  divine  kindred. 

But  who  needs  to  be  told  that  worldliness  in  its 
corruptest  spirit,  if  not  in  its  fouler  forms,  may  be 
allied  with  keen  sensibilities,  with  scholarly  attain- 
ments, with  a  poetic  imagination  ;  all  of  which  may 
eulogize  Christ  as  a  being  of  beauty,  of  harmonious 
development,  of  theoretical  perfections  ?  Who  needs 
to  be  reminded  of  the  fact,  that,  early  in  this  century, 
devout  observers  noted  with  pain  and  alarm  the  ab- 
sence among  men  of  letters,  everywhere,  of  a  faith 
in  Christ  as  a  religious,  spiritual  guide,  as  the  Son  of 
God,  as  a  personal  Saviour ;  though  with  no  absence 
of  respect  for  his  historic  character,  indeed  of  enthu- 
siasm for  the  grandeur  of  his  system,  and  for  the 
grace  of  his  spirit. 

This  class  of  believers  are  connoisseurs  in  moral 
proprieties,  critics  of  ethical  systems,  reviewers  of  in- 
fidel pretensions.  Their  religion  seems  to  be  a  com- 
pound of  intellectual  judgments  and  dainty  medita- 
tions; it  is  not  a  cordial  and  grateful  faith,  it  is  not 
a  downright  earnestness  of  soul.  The  same  kind 
of  a3sthetic  criticism  which  is  directed  toward 
Christ  is  exhibited  toward  the  Bible.  It  is  the 
poetry,  the  dramatic  capabilities,  the  simplicity  of 


116  THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD. 

the  Book  that  they  admire ;  the  fire  of  the  Lyrist 
kindles  them,  the  sacred  frenzy  of  the  Prophet 
awes  them ;  they  are  charmed  with  the  sententious- 
ness  of  the  Proverbialist,  with  the  pictures  of  the 
Gospel  biographers.  They  are  stirred  by  the  bold 
eloquence  of  the  Apostle,  they  delight  in  the  visions 
of  the  Seer  of  Patmos ;  but  they  do  not  prize  the 
Booh  as  the  glad  tidings  of  Life,  as  a  fountain  of 
spiritual  redemption. 

As  Romanists,  the  worship  of  such  believers 
would  consist  in  admiration  of  the  picturesque 
groupings  and  scenic  effects  of  the  ceremonial ;  in 
homage  of  Raphael,  as  a  painter  of  cartoons  or  Ma- 
donnas ;  of  Hayden,  as  a  composer  of  masses ;  or  in 
reverence  of  the  genius  embodied  in  mediaeval  archi- 
tecture. 

In  fine,  the  ^Esthetic  Christ  may  be  compared  in 
its  aspects,  and  its  effects,  to  a  palace  of  ice.  It 
glitters  with  corruscations  of  every  hue,  but  it  is  as 
cold  as  a  sepulchre ;  and  it  is  a  sepulchre  for  every 
soul  that  makes  it  a  dwelling. 

4.  But  we  must  now  bestow  some  consideration 
upon  the  Reformatory  Christ. 

By  this  designation,  I  mean  to  present  that  con- 
ception of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  as  a  moral  reformer, 
which  many  hold,  and  which  seems  almost  to  ex- 
clude him  in  any  other  aspect  from  recognition. 

This  class  of  believers  appeals  to  the  life  of 
the  Saviour ;  yet  not  as  a  divine  radiance  so  much 
as  an  earthly  example.  They  will  declare  their 
doubt  whether  he  possesses  a  spiritual  constitution 
different  from  or  superior  to  that  which  is  possessed 


THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD.  117 

by  you  or  by  me.  But  they  are  ready  to  say,  So 
unexceptionable  a  code  of  morals  no  philosopher 
ever  yet  devised ;  so  potent  an  engine  of  civil  re- 
straint no  statesman  ever  yet  conceived ;  so  admir- 
able a  system  of  social  amelioration  no  philanthro- 
pist ever  yet  projected ;  another  so  glorious  a  model 
for  human  imitation  history  nowhere  presents. 

All  these  are  valuable  admissions.  That  men, 
acknowledged  to  be  zealous  in  humane  efforts,  who 
welcome  sacrifices  in  their  paths  of  compassionate 
toil,  admit  that  before  them  all,  at  unapproachable 
distance,  moves  Christ,  the  great  lover  of  his  kind, 
is  a  pleasing  fact  to  contemplate ;  yes !  even  though 
they  see  him  in  no  special  relation  to  God,  as  one 
anointed  with  a  holier  unction  than  nature  and  hu- 
manity can  confer. 

I  do  not  dare  to  say  how  much  or  how  little  the 
reception  of  this  Christ  can  feed  the  heart  of  the 
world;  for  I  cannot  separate  from  the  influence 
which  spreads  from  this  centre  that  which  flows  im- 
perceptibly, in  conjunction  with  such  influence,  from 
the  widely-received  Christ,  as  the  Divine  Son  of 
God. 

But  I  may  express  the  opinion,  that,  were  there 
only  this  Christ  for  the  reliance  of  the  world  and  for 
the  redemption  of  society,  his  power,  great  as  it  is, 
would  speedily  decay;  and  were  it  not  that  some 
other  Christ  led  the  way,  this  Christ  would  never 
have  had  existence  in  human  recognition. 

Plerein  lies  the  deadness  of  portions  of  the  Church, 
—  in  benevolent  progress  and  in  good  works,  —  that 
they  too  readily  reject  Christ  the  Reformer^  and  hold 


118  THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD. 

another  Christ  exclusively.  And  herein  lies  the 
spiritual  deadness  of  many  moral  livers,  that  they 
receive  the  Reformatory  Christ,  and  seek  for  no 
other. 

To  me,  it  appears  that  the  theology  or  the  Chris- 
tianity of  such  believers  lacks,  say,  but  one  thing ; 
but  that  is  the  thing  needful.  It  is  the  very  ele- 
ment that  God  gave  to  the  message  and  work  of 
Christ,  to  distinguish  and  characterize  them ;  a  new 
element  for  the  recognition  of  the  world,  whereby  its 
impotency  of  faith  might  be  reinforced  and  its  de- 
bility of  will  receive  a  victorious  impulse.  I  mean 
the  element  of  an  assurance  of  God's  special  and 
personal  help,  for  the  rescue  of  his  children  from 
their  infirmities  and  their  sins. 

When  I  look  back  through  the  centuries  of  dis- 
traction and  trial,  to  learn  what  it  is  that  has  upheld 
the  heart  of  the  Church,  I  see  that  Church  turning 
for  inspiration  to  no  monument  commemorating 
human  greatness,  to  no  tablets  inscribed  with  earth- 
ly wisdom,  but  watching,  as  did  the  Israelites  of  old, 
a  column  of  heavenly  fire,  —  the  Shekinaii  of  God, 
—  the  living  and  divine  Christ. 

And  when  I  have  read  the  records  or  have  noted 
the  manifestations  of  private  experience,  I  have 
seen  conversion  not  the  fruit  of  the  Reformatory 
Christ,  but  that  "  neio  creatioti,"  which  it  is  the  spe- 
cial and  mysterious  function  of  Christ,  through  his 
divine  relations,  to  achieve. 

5.  Therefore,  lastly,  I  say,  Christ  as  the  soul's  Sav- 
iour, as  its  "  hope  of  glory,"  such  as  he  "  had  with 
the  Father  before  the  world  was,"  is  not  the  Historic, 


THE    CHRISTS    OF    THE    WORLD.  119 

nor  the  Dogmatic,  nor  the  jEstheiic,  nor  the  Refor- 
matory Christ;  but  Christ,  the  manifestation  of 
God,  —  Christ,  who  by  displays  of  heavenly  love 
unlocks  the  imprisoned  affections,  and  lures  them  to 
the  skies  ;  who  so  reveals  God's  abhorrence  for  sin, 
and  so  depicts  its  issues,  that  the  heart  pauses  trem- 
blingly in  its  path  of  transgression,  and  seeks  the  aid 
of  a  super-earthly  Helper. 

Let  us  not,  then,  neglect  the  study  of  the  Historic 
scenes  in  which  Christ  is  placed.  Let  us  prize  his 
teachings,  as  doctrines  of  unspeakable  worth.  Let 
us  welcome  his  example,  as  guiding  us  to  practical 
good.  But  above  all,  let  us  give  up  our  wills  to  his 
spiritual  control,  as  "  Son  of  God,"  as  "  Lord  from 
Heaven,"  whereby  we  shall  be  "born  again  unto 
newness  of  Life." 


SERMON    V. 


VAIN    THOUGHTS 


HOW   LONG   SHALL   THY   VAIN    THOUGHTS  LODGE   WITHIN   THEE?  — 

Jeremiah  iv.  14. 


My  present  object  is  to  show  the  importance  of  a 
just  regulation  of  the  thoughts,  and  to  strengthen 
your  purpose  against  vain  thoughts. 

The  first  consideration  to  which  I  ask  your  at- 
tention, is  this,  —  vain  thoughts  sap  the  strength  of 
character.  I  do  not  now  particularize  the  kind  of 
vain  thoughts.  The  proposition  is  a  general  one,  — 
thoughts  that  are  adverse  to  the  open  action  of  the 
man  enfeeble  his  mental  and  moral  vigor.  Vain 
thoughts  may  be  said  to  be  of  this  class. 

Are  you  fully  aware  of  the  power  of  action  on 
thought  ?  and  of  thought  thus  re-enforced  on  char- 
acter ?  By  action,  I  mean  the  visible  execution  of 
purpose,  the  carrying  out  of  the  conception. 

Take  an  inventor,  —  how  definite  become  his  plan- 
nings,  how  proportioned,  how  effective,  as  soon  as 
he  embodies  his  conception,  —  sees  it  in  its  workings ! 
Some  minds  may  elaborate  their  designs  in  thought, 
but  they  are  imperfect;  something  needs  adjustment, 


VAIN    THOUGHTS.  121 

which  a  material  representation,  a  working  model, 
will  alone  supply.  This  renders  the  obscure  con- 
ception clear,  furnishes  stimulus  to  the  inventive 
power,  and  makes  the  practical  mechanician  or  ar- 
chitect. 

Take  extempore  speaking.  It  is  one  thing  to  be  able 
in  one's  study  to  elaborate  a  speech,  and  it  is  another 
thing  to  look  an  audience  in  the  face,  and  com- 
mand the  power  of  utterance  of  connected  thought 
of  persuasive  illustration.  And  no  man  can  make 
a  free  and  impressive  extempore  orator  who  is  not 
trained  for  success  on  the  platform  of  actual  speech. 
A  daguerreotype  of  his  address,  in  its  outlines  and 
details  of  conception,  might  exhibit  exact  logic  and 
faultless  rhetoric,  but  its  author,  for  all  this,  might 
fail  of  effect  in  attempting  to  render  his  conceptions 
orally  ;  indeed,  the  product  itself,  unless  moulded  by 
the  tact  and  fired  by  the  electric  ardor  which  habits 
of  public  speaking  beget,  would  be  probably  deficient 
as  a  spoken  address. 

Many  a  man's  thought  has  been  shaken  as  from  a 
stupor,  and  his  purpose  matured  as  by  miracle,  by 
some  sudden  emergency  in  which  he  has  acted  with 
decision.  The  very  pigmy  in  moral  force  has  be- 
come a  giant,  by  measuring  his  stimulated  powers 
against  some  formidable  circumstance.  Warriors 
have  sprung  full-grown  and  full-armed  from  the  brain 
of  an  exigency.  Genius  has  been  enkindled  by  sparks 
struck  out  by  the  friction  of  necessity. 

All  theories,  all  school-rules,  all  abstract  principles, 
are  brought  to  the  test  in  action,  and  are  exploded  or 
are  substantiated  in  the  experiment.  Practice  is  the 
11 


122  VAIN    THOUGHTS. 

great  expurgator  of  vain  thinking,  and  it  is  the  great 
attestor  of  sound  thinking. 

It  is  action,  then,  in  general  terms,  that  gives  life, 
force,  exactness,  to  thought.  The  scholar  must  write, 
the  artist  must  paint,  the  clerk  must  plunge  into  the 
mysteries  of  entries  and  balances,  the  mechanic  must 
ply  his  tools,  the  advocate  must  plead,  the  physician 
prescribe  at  the  bed-side,  the  minister  ^reacA.  Every 
laborer,  whether  of  head  or  hand,  must  work  his 
thought  or  knowledge  into  action,  before  he  is  wise, 
or  skilful,  or  efficient. 

I  need  not  show  specifically  the  effect  of  thought 
reinforced  by  action  on  character.  If  I  have  left  the 
impression  on  your  minds  that  action  is  all-potent  to 
modify  and  invigorate  thought,  you  wall  see  at  once 
the  effect  of  both  on  the  character  of  the  man  ;  or 
rather,  you  will  see  that  both  do  constitute  the  man. 
From  a  schemer,  he  becomes  the  practical  inventor; 
from  the  dainty  theorist,  he  becomes  the  sound  phi- 
losopher ;  from  the  man  of  dreams,  he  becomes  the 
man  of  force,  dexterity,  accomplishment. 

Nor  does  the  proposition  halt,  when,  instead  of 
estimating  the  influence  of  action  on  intellectual 
thought  and  character,  or  on  manual  dexterity,  you 
consider  it  with  relation  to  moral  qualities. 

A  person  of  impure  imaginations  is  a  polluted 
creature  and  a  dangerous  companion  ;  but  he  is  far 
this  side  of  the  line  of  vice  which  the  practical  profli- 
gate occupies.  He  is  on  the  track,  indeed,  toward 
signal  achievements  in  iniquity ;  but  taking  him  as 
he  is  now,  a  sensualist  in  thought  only,  and  com- 
paring him  with  the  systematic,  habitual  debauchee, 


VAIN    THOUGHTS.  123 

he  is  a  tyro  in  unholy  living.  He  has  not  the  force 
of  the  overt  transgressor  ;  he  has  not  the  hardi- 
hood, the  almost  irreclaimable  tendencies  of  the  prac- 
tised libertine.  Desire  that  yearns,  though  hesitates, 
in  the  one,  is  the  purpose  that  plans  and  executes  in 
the  other. 

There  are  some  individuals  as  had  as  passive, 
timid  baseness  can  make  them  ;  but  their  vicious- 
ness  is  less  defined,  less  peremptory,  less  diffusive, 
than  that  of  the  actively  corrupt. 

I  do  not  say  that,  comparing  the  two  classes  of 
wicked  men  with  the  Christian  standard,  there  is 
much  difference  in  radical  sinfulness,  but  only  that 
the  characteristics  of  the  vice  of  each  greatly  differ. 

Force  of  character,  then,  development,  depends 
upon  thought  reinforced  by  action,  or  upon  a  cor- 
respondence between  the  practice  and  the  meditation 
of  a  man. 

Now  vain  thoughts  generally  run  counter  to  one's 
actions.  The  inward  life  and  the  outward  life  do  not 
harmonize.  The  man  is  therefore  comparatively  an 
imbecile.  Your  dreamers  are  never  men  of  power,  — 
air-castle  builders  never  build  granite  palaces.  Rev- 
eries are  the  deadliest  foes  to  achievements.  Pic- 
tures of  the  imagination  hardly  more  resemble  daily 
realities,  the  substance  of  life,  than  the  mirage  does 
the  solid  earth  or  the  rolling  sea;  and  they  who 
habitually  contemplate  these  mental  images  bear 
about  the  same  relation  to  men  who  observe,  handle, 
act,  that  the  morning  vapor  bears  to  the  beating  rain. 

At  the  very  outset,  then,  the  man  or  woman  who 
cherishes  vain  thoughts,   shrivels  those   productive 


124  VAIN   THOUGHTS. 

energies  which  God  gave  for  duty  and  for  his  ser- 
vice, —  they  stint  their  immortal  stature. 

But  again,  not  only  do  vain  thoughts  rob  the 
being  of  its  momentum,  by  causing  thought  and  ac- 
tion to  draw  oppositely,  but  they  enfeeble  it,  simply 
on  the  principle  that  what  is  false  must  enervate. 
Now  vain  thoughts  are  obviously  false  thoughts. 
They  come  short  of  the  truth,  or  they  go  beyond  the 
truth.  Experience  never  realizes  these  fancies.  There 
is  no  strength  but  in  truth.  Is  it  the  dreamer  who  is 
adequate  to  the  emergencies  of  life  ?  Is  it  he  who 
measures  wisely  its  trials  ?  He  who  calculates  accu- 
rately its  claims  ?  He  who  is  contented  with  its 
allotments  ?  He  who  is  cheerful  under  its  disasters  ? 
No.  The  vain  thinker  brings  all  things,  all  beings, 
not  excepting  the  Infinite  Controller  himself  to  the 
bar  of  an  idea ;  and  this  idea  being  a  false  one,  he  pro- 
nounces, practically,  if  not  formally,  a  judgment  on 
the  world,  men,  life,  and  on  the  Supreme  Disposer. 

The  vain  thinker,  shut  up  with  his  fancies,  bereft 
of  the  ventilation  of  sound  thoughts,  little  realizes 
the  moral  weakness  he  inhales  with  that  tainted  air. 
He  is  in  a  sphere  of  illusions  ;  consequently,  he  views 
none  of  life's  indispensable  discipline  ;  he  enjoys 
none  of  its  healthy  privileges  ;  he  accumulates  no 
reserved  force  for  sterner  and  inevitable  realities. 

Under  this  division  of  my  subject,  I  will  add  but 
one  other  consideration  to  the  two  already  submit- 
ted,—  why  vain  thoughts  should  be  controlled. 

I  have  said  they  weaken,  by  dividing  the  forces  of 
man,  the  meditative  from  the  executive.  They  de- 
lude, and  so  enfeeble,  by  surrounding  the  being  with 


VAIN    THOUGHTS.  125 

falsehoods ;  and  thirdly,  they  directly  debauch  by 
their  intrinsic  corruption.  Vain  ihong-hts  are  vicious 
thoughts.  An  evil  idea  mai/  pass  across  the  mind, 
and  leave  no  blur,  but  such  ideas  cannot  lodg'e  within 
the  mind  for  any  length  of  time  without  staining  it. 
These  suggestions  enter  the  field  of  consciousness, 
and  if  the  heart  invite  them  to  remain,  they  loill 
remain,  and  that  which  was  the  result  of  human 
infirmity  becomes  a  testimony  to  human  guilt.  The 
discarded  conception  would  not  dishonor  an  angel,  — 
the  cherished  image  is  shame  and  corruption  to  the 
man. 

I  believe  God  grants  the  power  to  man  to  resist 
the  Devil ;  but  it  must  be  on  even  ground,  and  be- 
fore odds  are  given  to  the  foe.  Thoughts  are  the 
successive  steps  by  which  the  great  Enemy  seeks  to 
win  us  down  to  his  realm.  So  long  as  we  stand 
away  from  the  edge  of  the  pit,  on  the  solid  footing 
of  early  and  sturdy  resistance,  God  gives  us  the  vic- 
tory ;  but  if  we  descend  a  single  step,  the  adver- 
sary has  us  at  advantage.  We  seem  yet  to  be  above 
and  away  from  the  perilous  edge,  because  our  eyes, 
in  their  higher  level,  discern  the  beauty  we  have  not 
utterly  forsaken,  rather  than  the  evil  that  yawns  at 
our  feet.  We  take  a  second  step  and  a  third  with 
equal  complacency.  The  gradations  are  easy,  but 
sure ;  and  at  any  instant  we  may  lose  sight  of  all  the 
forms  of  virtue,  and  find  ourselves  in  the  terrible  grasp 
of  the  fiend. 

It  is  in  view  of  the  facts  now  presented  that  the 
Scripture  so  urges  purity  within.  It  is  the  thouglU 
that  is  brought  into  the  Eternal  Presence.  It  is 
11* 


126  VAIN    THOUGHTS. 

thought  that  participates  in  heavenly  bliss.  It  is 
thovght  that  suffers  retributive  woe. 

But  I  will  classify  our  vain  thoughts,  that  our 
heed  with  respect  to  them  may  be  increased. 

Take  first  the  vagabond  class,  —  the  idlers,  beggars, 
vagrants  of  the  mind,  without  avocation,  without 
home,  without  aim.  As  well  might  you  expect  a 
town  to  thrive  whose  population  consisted  of  strollers, 
unsettled  in  habits,  without  ambition,  without  en- 
ergy ;  coming  without  purpose,  and  going  without 
object;  as  a  mind  to  prosper,  a  character  to  flourish, 
through  which  ideas  wander  without  control :  pursu- 
ing no  end  as  busy  and  patient  citizens  of  the  men- 
tal state,  but  only  staring  at  sights,  and  roaming  as 
impulse  or  chance  directs.  As  well  expect  the  wind 
to  waft  timbers,  shingles,  boards,  into  a  compact 
building,  as  to  hope  that  such  random  ideas  will  ever 
adjust  themselves  into  a  solid  mental  edifice.  As 
well  hope  that  the  colt  that  never  knew  bit  or  halter 
will  plough  up  your  farm  or  draw  your  harvests  to 
market,  as  that  unregulated  thought  will  stir  up  the 
intellectual  glebe  to  fertile  action,  or  convey  any 
product  worth  keeping  into  the  mental  granary. 

Nor  is  all  this  true  only  of  mind.  It  is  true  also  of 
the  heart.  The  moral  product  is  affected  like  the  in- 
tellectual. Collapses  of  character,  failures  in  plans, 
defeats  in  life,  wretched  issues  out  of  fair  beginnings, 
are  to  be  accounted  for  on  the  ground  of  unmethod- 
ical and  capricious  thought. 

Again,  take  the  painted,  bejewelled  class  of 
thoughts,  all  taste,  all  beauty,  all  comfort,  all  honor, 
all  joy ;  the  pleasure-seekers,  the  elegant  schemers, 


VAIN    THOUGHTS.  127 

the  dainty  gentlefolk  of  the  mind.  As  well  expect 
in  a  town  mouths  to  be  fed  and  backs  clothed,  the 
ring  of  the  hammer  and  the  whiz  of  the  lathe,  the 
prosperity  of  universal  industry,  the  content  of  just 
recompense,  the  sound  judgment  that  rules  the  pres- 
ent, the  forecast  that  provides  for  the  future,  where 
fops  and  belles  (whose  sole  aim  is  to  avoid  care,  to 
shine  and  enjoy,  to  escape  wrinkles  and  cheat  fate) 
are  the  only  agents,  as  to  expect  the  performance  of 
duty,  the  right  reading  of  life,  the  true  discernment 
of  moral  and  spiritual  relations,  —  love  toward  man, 
and  trust  in  God, —  from  those  who  cherish  extrava- 
gant fancies,  who  welcome  none  but  rosy  images, 
hope  unattainable  bliss,  and  dream  impossible 
achievements. 

The  mind  that  would  breathe  a  true  atmosphere 
must  enter  the  realm  of  tempests  as  well  as  of  calm, 
—  must  snufF  discipline  beneath  skies  streaked  with 
lightning  and  pealing  with  thunders,  as  well  as  be- 
neath clouds  of  gold  or  a  canopy  of  azure. 

God  tries  with  adversity  as  well  as  with  prosper- 
ity, and  it  is  through  that  door,  rather  than  this^  that 
the  Gospel  child  must  enter  the  kingdom  of  God. 
That  pictured  lot,  which  would  probably  be  your 
ruin  on  earth,  will  not  qualify  you  for  heaven. 

But  still  again.  There  is  a  class  of  vain  thoughts 
that  may  be  called  the  gloomy,  the  desponding. 
These  answer  to  the  discomfited,  the  hopeless  dwel- 
lers of  a  town,  who  do  nothing  ;  who  repine  at  every- 
thing, who  prophesy  disaster,  who  mope,  who  accuse 
the  world,  who  are  faithless  in  God ;  the  social 
ravens,  ready  to  pick  up  another  man's  morsel,  ceas- 


128  VAIN    THOUGHTS. 

ing  to  croak  only  while  they  devour  it.  No  better 
citizens  of  the  moral  and  spiritual  realm  are  these 
dark  imaginings,  than  are  those  selfish  malcontents 
of  the  social  world. 

How  unlovely,  how  profane,  is  this  morose  habit 
of  mind!  How  unworthy  the  protected  and  loved 
child  of  God !  Be  sedate,  be  solemn^  if  you  will ;  for 
life's  responsibilities  may  well  make  the  heart  grave 
and  reflective ;  but  be  not  a  brooder.  Until  you  are 
an  outcast  from  God,  never  despair. 

Akin  to  this  class  of  "  vain  thoughts  "  are  those 
sad  memories  which  bereavement  leaves,  which 
have  nothing  of  heaven  in  them,  which  are  merely 
oppressive  reminiscences.  I  would  not  easily  chide 
such,  would  rather  pity  the  victim  of  them.  Yet 
they  are  wrong,  and  they  should  be  dislodged.  Faith 
is  no  tenant  of  that  soul  that  gives  itself  up  to  the 
smitings  of  sorrow,  that  yields  itself  to  the  dominion 
of  a  past  calamity.  There  are  aspects  of  death,  if 
we  might  reach  them,  marked  on  the  event  by  the 
Son  of  God  himself,  which  should  yield  high  conso- 
lation, if  not  expel  every  gloomy  sentiment.  It  was 
to  meet  just  such  crises  of  the  heart  that  Jesus  of 
Nazareth  came  among  tried  and  sufTering  men. 

The  last  class  of  vain  thoughts  I  shall  mention 
(and  hardly  more  than  mention,  since  I  have  already 
alluded  to  them),  is  that  of  the  profligates,  answer- 
ing to  the  revellers,  the  debauchees  of  the  social  do- 
main, —  inhabitants  that  are  the  drones  and  scourges 
of  every  community.  As  these  have  a  sad  power  of 
corruption  over  the  young  of  that  community,  so  the 
thoughts  which  they  symbolize  vitiate  the  germs  of 


VAIN    THOUGHTS.  129 

every  pure  emotion,  and  train  up  rioters  rather  than 
worshippers. 

It  is  a  dreadful  habit  to  give  the  reins  to  some 
greedy  appetite  or  some  flushed  sentiment,  and  let 
them  whirl  the  soul  at  will  in  this  chariot  of  sense. 
If  a  man  could  see  himself  in  this  wild  career  of 
thought,  or  if  this  invisible  reality  could  become  a 
visible  representation,  that  others  might  see  it,  or  if 
a  person  might  conjecture  how  in  these  reveries  he 
appears  before  the  Searcher  of  hearts,  many  a  one, 
in  shame  or  disgust  or  horror,  would  bring  his  con- 
science, his  spiritual  determinations,  to  the  rescue ; 
and  as  one  violating  the  sanctity  of  his  being,  as  one 
profaning  the  Temple,  wherein  God's  honor  should 
dwell,  would  cleanse  his  breast  of  its  foul  imag- 
inings. 

You  may  now  be  ready  to  inquire,  Where  is  the 
remedy  for  vain  and  wicked  thoughts  ?  I  answer. 
The  basis  of  all  successful  effort  at  control  over  the 
thoughts  is  faith  that  they  can  be  controlled.  Some 
seem  to  doubt  this.  They  say, "  Demand  of  us  action, 
and  we  will  respond.  Set  before  us  the  deed^  and  we 
will  do  it ;  but  thought  is  so  subtle,  so  illusive,  that  it 
evades  our  grasp  and  defies  our  sway."  Brethren, 
this  is  not  true.  You  are  led  to  doubt  your  jurisdic- 
tion over  your  thoughts,  chiefly  because  you  set  them 
in  contrast  with  your  deeds.  These  are  admitted  to 
be  within  man's  power,  but  by.  a  presumptuous  in- 
ference, those  cannot  be,  because  they  have  no  char- 
acteristics in  common  with  deeds.  You  forget  that 
actions,  foreborne  merely  through  fear  of  law  or 
dread  of  opinion,  or  any  such  constraint,  are  fore- 


130  VAIN    THOUGHTS. 

borne  by  yourselves  only  as  agents  of  a  foreign  force. 
Wherever  you  have  truly  controlled  action,  you  have 
controlled  thought.  Your  will  is  the  sentinel  that 
may  bolt  or  may  unbar  the  gates.  It  is  the  word  of 
your  purpose,  that  will  shut  out  the  regal  procession 
or  the  filthy  rabble  ;  yes,  or  the  saintly  throng.  Do 
not  doubt !  Have  faith  in  God,  and  in  his  everlast- 
ing succors !  Call  upon  his  Spirit,  and  be  sure  of 
deliverance ! 

I  will  not  close  without  adverting  to  that  surest 
defence  against  "  vain  thoughts,"  a  mind  instructed 
to  delight  in  sound  thought  and  a  heart  impressed  to 
covet  pure  thoughts.  Parents,  remember  this  in  the 
early  nm'ture  of  your  children !  There  are  some 
foes  better  conquered  by  array  than  by  conflict. 
Such  are  the  appetites  out  of  which  sinful  sugges- 
tions spring.  Let  Christ  abide  in  the  Temple,  and 
the  money-changers  wiU  not  desecrate  its  courts. 
Low  lusts  stand  in  awe  of  the  religious  spirit,  as 
the  demons  quailed  before  the  Son  of  God.  Seek 
to  awaken  the  love  of  the  holy,  and  the  desire  of  evil 
will  perish. 


SERMON    VI. 

FOEBEAKANCE. 
roEBEAEiNG  ONE  ANOTHEK.  —  Colossians  iii.  3. 

One  of  the  marks  of  the  divine  origin  of  Chris- 
tianity is  the  inculcation  of  what  have  been  termed 
the  passive  virtues. 

Whoever  has  a  merely  personal  end  or  an  earthly 
object  to  accomplish,  in  the  establishment  of  a  sys- 
tem or  an  institution,  seizes  for  the  principles  upon 
which  it  must  rest  something  that  is  not  too  far  in 
advance  of  his  age,  and  that  is  not  too  hostile  to  the 
common  thought  and  feeling  of  man.  Contrasted 
upon  this  very  point,  the  Bible  and  the  Koran  dis- 
close, the  one  its  heavenly,  the  other  its  earthly 
origin.  Mahometanism  would  not  have  won  its 
quick  and  broad  triumphs,  if,  like  Christianity,  its 
standard  had  been  forbearance. 

There  is  no  virtue  less  natural,  so  to  speak,  than 
forbearance.  There  is  none  to  desultory  effort  more 
difficult  of  attainment.  Indeed,  we  are  hardly  in  a 
position  to  estimate  its  quality,  or  the  difficulty  of 
its  practice,  sitting  thus,  as  we  do,  in  the  composure 
of  the  sanctuary. 

It  is  a  virtue  that  has  no  existence,  except  under 


132  FORBEARANCE. 

circumstances  of  aggression  and  moral  disturbance. 
That  it  is  a  grace  hard  of  acquisition  we  begin  to 
feel  only  when  it  interferes  with  our  resentments, 
when  it  lays  its  hand  upon  our  passions,  and  seeks 
to  repress  our  speech  or  mould  our  actions  accord- 
ing to  the  teachings  of  Christian  love. 

It  is  no  strange  thing,  at  this  day,  to  preach  for- 
bearance, to  proclaim  non-resistant  ideas,  to  hold 
peace  congresses  ;  for  these  all  are  the  product  of 
Christianity  ;  —  though  even  now,  men  governed  by 
theories  of  expediency,  and  trammelled  by  the  usages 
of  nations,  see  in  these  doctrines  and  projects  of 
Christian  philanthropy  something  visionary  and 
absurd. 

But  how  must  it  have  been  in  a  heathen  age  ? 
How  repulsive  to  its  customs  and  directions  of  feel- 
ing an  inculcation  of  forbearance,  as  a  foundation 
principle  of  a  new  system  of  religious  faith  and  of 
worldly  practice. 

To  the  Jews,  also,  a  people  that  had  received  limit- 
ed revelations,  even  from  God,  the  doctrine  of  for- 
bearance was  eminently  unpalatable.  That  Christ 
should  have  proclaimed  it,  I  might  almost  say,  as 
the  life  of  his  religious  system ;  and  that  he  should 
have  lived  out  its  utmost  beauty  and  power,  and 
should  have  required  its  expression  in  the  life  of 
every  disciple,  is  a  mark  of  the  superhuman  source 
of  his  revelations. 

And  yet,  though  the  embodiment  of  this  doctrine, 
as  a  cardinal  principle  of  the  Christian's  faith  and 
practice,  bespeaks  a  heavenly  origin,  we  feel  how 
suited  the  doctrine  is  to  the  condition  of  man.     We 


FORBEARANCE.  133 

can  discover  its  beauty,  we  can  appreciate  its  pur- 
pose, we  can  discern  the  consequences  of  its  adop- 
tion. We  see  that  it  is  an  attainment  thrown  be- 
fore the  soul  for  the  effort  of  its  highest  faculties. 

Perhaps,  you  say,  I  am  claiming  too  much  for  this 
virtue.  True,  it  is  humble,  retired,  silent.  But  the 
noiseless  forces  of  Nature  are  the  mightiest,  and  the 
unnoticed  labors  of  man  are  his  most  exhausting  and 
most  productive.  So  the  least  conspicuous  char- 
acteristics of  Christianity  will  be  found  to  exert  the 
most  influence  upon  the  development  of  character 
and  the  spread  of  truth. 

As  a  labor-demanding  virtue,  forbearance  is  en- 
titled to  the  highest  consideration,  and  stands  in  a 
position  of  highest  dignity.  A  charioteer,  urging  his 
mettlesome  steeds  onward  upon  some  errand  of 
mercy,  may  symbolize  an  effort  of  active  charity ; 
but  the  more  difficult  act  of  tempering  the  violence 
of  those  steeds,  and  guiding  their  activity  for  the 
same  end  of  mercy,  typifies  the  higher  worth  of  the 
grace,  forbearance. 

The  importance  of  forbearance  can  be  appreciated 
only  by  a  consideration  of  the  consequences  involved 
in  a  violation  of  it.  I  should  feel  willing  to  hold  the 
vice  of  intemperance  or  the  calamity  of  war  in  con- 
trast with  the  violation  of  forbearance ;  and  I  doubt 
whether  the  miseries  of  either  of  those  would  weigh 
as  heavily  as  the  aggregate  wretchedness  from  this. 
Consider  the  multitude  of  little  streams  that  flow 
together  to  form  the  great  reservoir  of  such  wretch- 
edness. Count  the  families  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth.     Each  consists  of  a  greater  or  smaller  num- 

12 


134  FORBEARANCE. 

ber  of  wills,  inclosed  within  four  walls.  No  two 
were  ever  constituted  alike.  No  two  were  ever 
affected  by  circumstances  precisely  similar.  No  two 
ever  had  exactly  the  same  end  in  view;  yet  they 
must  dwell  together,  and  make  up  the  unit  of  a 
household.  Now  glance  for  an  instant  at  a  day's 
history  of  those  families.  Some,  the  morning  sun 
awakens  only  to  bickering,  to  mutual  resentments ; 
and  the  night  falls  only  to  suspend  these  painful 
hostilities.  In  others,  there  may  be  no  conflict  of 
blows,  none  of  marked  actions,  none  of  loud  speech ; 
yet,  for  all  that,  there  may  be  a  course  of  painful 
retaliations,  thrusting  out  invisible  stings,  and  en- 
gendering intolerable  annoyances. 

The  history  of  all  these  domestic  broils,  whether 
between  brothers  and  sisters,  husband  and  wife,  or 
master  and  servants,  is  a  simple  one.  They  start, 
generally,  from  the  same  little  beginning.  Grant 
that  there  is  first  an  aggressor,  the  real  fire  seems  to 
kindle  with  the  retaliatory  act  or  answer.  This  is 
the  gust  that  fans  the  spark  into  flame.  The  severer 
retort  then  follows,  succeeded  by  the  still  more  angry 
rejoinder,  until  that  trifling  dispute  culminates,  per- 
haps, in  a  fearful  contest  of  passion  and  blood. 

But  the  little  infelicities  that  spring  up  in  a  family 
like  this  cannot  be  recounted.  There,  they  are  like 
thorns  among  the  plays  of  the  children ;  here,  like  a 
bitter  sauce  at  every  meal.  Again,  these  mutual  re- 
pulsions render  work  sullen  and  cheerless.  They 
take  the  heart  out  of  amusement,  and  make  marriage^ 
instead  of  an  inclosure  of  harmonies,  a  fenced  arena 
of  repugnancies. 


FORBEARANCE.  135 

Then,  passing  out  of  the  family  to  other  relations 
in  life,  —  to  partnerships,  to  the  relation  of  buyer 
and  seller,  of  employer  and  employee,  of  neighbors, 
and  so  forth,  —  the  same  miseries  are  found  to  exist, 
attributable  to  the  same  source.  And  even  war 
itself,  with  whose  dreadful  calamities  we  were  about 
to  compare  the  woes  springing  out  of  a  contempt  for 
the  law  of  forbearance,  is,  in  the  main,  a  fruit  of  that 
very  contempt. 

What  is  forbearance,  —  this  comforter  of  society, 
this  helper  of  our  happiness  ?  It  is  a  disposition  to 
claim  less  than  one's  due,  to  forget  the  sting  of 
injury,  in  a  regard  for  the  well-being  of  your  injurer, 
a  backwardness  to  fortify  one's  own  position  with 
the  armament  which  nature  supplies,  a  readiness  to 
to  sacrifice  self,  though  justice  may  not  demand  the 
sacrifice,  to  the  claims  of  love  and  peace. 

The  methods  of  its  operation  are  various ;  but  its 
primal  effect  is  on  the  feeling,  the  sensibility.  It 
stops  the  mouth  from  its  quick,  angry  reply.  It 
holds  the  hand  from  the  retaliatory  blow.  But  more 
than  this,  it  tranquillizes  the  threatened  agitations  of 
the  heart,  so  that  oftentimes  the  flash  that  would  in- 
voluntarily  leap  to  the  eye  is  left  under  the  embers 
below;  and  the  flush  of  the  cheek  that  signals  re- 
sentment is  folded  up  like  the  red  banner  of  a  sleep- 
ing host. 

This  beautiful  Christian  sentiment  can  never  be 
mistaken  for  pusillanimity,  —  never  for  the  indiffer- 
ence of  a  phlegmatic  nature.  It  has  the  calmness 
and  the  self-possession  of  power;  yet  nothing  de- 
fiant, nothing  aggravating.  Its  ground  is  peace,  its 
natural  language  is  conciliation. 


136  FORBEARANCE. 

How  almost  invariably  effective  is  forbearance  in 
the  commencing  strife.  Forget  yourself,  your  claims, 
your  position  of  right.  For  a  moment  let  the  sense 
of  injury  even  sleep,  and  instead  of  retorting  the 
sharp  word  in  the  same  spirit,  utter  a  mild,  consider- 
ate reply,  and  see  what  a  result !  That  little  cloud, 
no  bigger  than  the  hand,  which  a  defiant  or  a  com- 
bative spirit  would  have  spread  over  the  whole 
heavens,  with  its  lightnings  and  thunders,  has 
vanished  into  mist  before  this  sunshine  of  your 
kindly  speech.  And  another  beautiful  effect  of  this 
course  is,  that  your  aggressor,  through  the  clear  at- 
mosphere which  you  have  dispensed  around  him, 
sees,  and  will  probably  confess,  the  wrong  he  has 
done  you.  What  you  could  not  have  extorted  from 
him  by  the  batteries  of  your  wrath  he  surrenders  to 
you  at  the  waving  of  your  white  flag.  To  quote 
the  words  of  a  wretched  criminal  and  suicide,  yet  a 
man  of  culture,  and  of  keen  insight  into  life  : 
"  Love  is  strength,  and  the  power  of  kindness  most 
efficient.  With  thrust  for  cut  I  have  fought  the 
world,  and  been  a  loser^  even  ivhen  victorious^ 

Children,  as  well  as  adults,  are  affected  by  demon- 
strations of  forbearance.  A  child  once  burst  into 
the  room  where  her  mother  was  sitting,  exclaiming 
with  delight  in  her  looks  and  tones,  "  O  mother, 
come  out  and  see  one  of  the  best  little  girls  I  ever 
knew !  I  was  angry  with  her,  and  told  her  I  would 
never  speak  to  her  again,  and  she  said,  '  Well, 
then,  I  will  speak  to  you  the  oftener  '  I  " 

To  what  an  extent  would  the  relation  between 
debtor  and  creditor  be  improved  by  a  display  of  this 


FORBEARANCE.  137 

virtue.  Let  him  who  owes  forbear,  when  the  cred- 
itor presses  him  for  a  just  debt ;  and  let  him  who 
is  owed  forbear,  when  his  debtor  fails  of  prompt 
payment;  forbear,  I  mean,  the  display  of  angry 
feeling  and  the  utterance  of  harsh  words.  And 
how  much  sooner  will  the  one  pay  his  debt,  and 
how  much  less  oppressive  will  be  the  importunity 
of  the  other.  And  when  the  account  is  settled  be- 
tween the  two,  no  friendship  will  have  been  broken. 
Let  your  memories  cite  one  instance,  in  which  such 
a  course  would  probably  have  averted  a  most  tragic 
issue. 

What  multitudes  of  wretched  lawsuits,  costly, 
protracted,  vexatious,  has  the  lack  of  this  Christian 
grace  engendered.  Immeasurably  would  it  shorten 
the  docket  of  every  court  in  Christendom,  if  no  case 
should  come  within  its  jurisdiction  other  than  those 
in  which  forbearance,  upon  one  side  at  least,  had 
been  fully  tried.  Nor  would  this  result  involve  the 
abandonment  of  claims,  or  loss  of  dues,  or  latitude 
to  shuffling  debtors ;  or  in  any  wise  enfeeble  the 
rule  of  social  justice.  It  would  merely  not  permit 
the  heart  to  suspect  injury  where  possibly  none  was 
intended  (a  fruitful  source  of  litigation) ;  and  it 
would  withdraw  from  the  matter  in  controversy  all 
collateral  aggravations,  which  are  often  a  more 
serious  bar  to  agreement  than  the  substance  of  the 
controversy  itself. 

It  is  a  fact,  noticeable,  and  to  be  lamented,  that 
many  who  set  faces,  as  of  iron,  against  the  abuses 
of  the  day,  seeking  to  bring  a  practical  Gospel  more 
closely  into  contact  with  the  customs  and  institu- 

12* 


FORBEARANCE. 


tions  of  society,  and  with  the  daily  life  of  the  indi- 
vidual,—  men  who  are  called  by  some,  reformers, 
by  others,  radicals,  —  should  apparently  possess  so 
little  of  this  grace  of  forbearance.  How  much  bet- 
ter would  it  be  for  themselves,  for  their  cause,  to 
be  armed  in  this  persuasive  panoply.  Why  should 
they  seek  to  add  to  the  obstacles  of  the  truth  they 
bear  an  opposition,  summoned  by  an  impatient  and 
exacting  temper?  By  gentleness,  they  need  abate 
no  jot  of  earnestness,  sacrifice  no  tithe  of  their 
moral  force.  Forbearance  calls  tipon  no  man  to 
blench,  to  surrender  a  conviction,  to  dally  with 
falsehood  and  sin,  or  their  abettors.  It  does  not 
repress  conscience  nor  faith,  nor  any  high  faculty. 
Its  whole  action  is  against  the  power  of  self,  that 
springs  up  to  vitiate  every  conflict,  and  lighten  the 
weight  of  the  blows  struck  for  truth  and  humanity. 

How  signally  deficient  have  theological  disputants 
generally  been  in  this  cardinal  virtue.  Where  there 
has  been  one  Melancthon,  there  have  been  fifty  Lu- 
thers.  Where  one  Fenelon,  fifty  Knoxes.  It  is 
painful  to  read  the  controversies  of  the  Reformation  ; 
if  Christianity  were  alive  in  them,  civilization  hardly 
was.  We  should  expect  from  Henry  the  Eighth, 
"  Defender  of  the  Faith,"  a  strain  of  coarse,  almost 
profane  retort;  but  hardly  from  such  men  as  Luther 
and  Chancellor  More.  Whatever  be  the  energy  of 
character,  or  the  depth  of  conviction,  or  the  sense  of 
wrong,  or  the  determination  to  uproot  abuses,  it 
would  seem  as  if,  with  these  uncompromising  quali- 
ties, there  might  be  conjoined  forbearance,  as  a  part 
of  the  indispensable  wisdom,  as  well  as  the  Christian 
obligation  of  controversy. 


FORBEARANCE.  139 

It  is  delightful  to  turn  from  the  pages  that  record 
the  asperities  in  which  Sir  Thomas  More  indulged, 
as  a  controversialist,  to  his  conduct  before  the  court 
which  sentenced  him  to  death.  Surely  he  kneiv, 
and  could  practise  upon  the  Christian  precept  of 
forbearance.  Said  he  to  the  court,  after  its  inhuman 
and  every  way  unjustifiable  sentence  :  "  More  have 
I  not  to  say,  my  Lords,  but  that,  as  St.  Paul  held  the 
clothes  of  those  who  stoned  Stephen  to  death,  and 
as  they  are  now,  both  saints  in  heaven,  and  shall 
continue  there  friends  for  ever  ;  so  I  verily  trust,  and 
shall  right  heartily  pray,  that,  though  your  Lordships 
have  here  on  earth  been  judges  to  my  condemna- 
tion, we  may  nevertheless,  hereafter,  cheerfully  meet 
in  heaven,  in  everlasting  salvation." 

We  have  reason  to  deplore  the  want  of  this  virtue 
of  forbearance  in  the  political  controversies  of  our 
country.  Religion  does  not  indeed  suffer  from  the 
acrimony  of  these  disputes,  as  she  does  from  the  bit- 
terness of  sectarian  strife ;  because  the  disputants  in 
this  latter  are,  almost  without  exception,  recognized 
teachers  of  Christian  morals,  and  professed  disciples 
of  the  Lord  of  love.  But  even  political  controversy 
ought  in  some  measure  to  reflect  the  Christian  civil- 
ization, from  the  midst  of  which  it  springs.  A  sin 
of  our  country  is,  its  want  of  Christian  forbearance. 
In  the  midst  of  so  much  enterprise,  so  much  personal 
activity,  where  every  individual  feels  his  freedom, 
his  power;  where  his  words  have  weight  in  the 
formiiig  of  public  sentiment,  and  his  acts  still 
greater  weight  in  the  direction  of  public  action,  — 
where   self-hood,  so  to  speak,  becomes   conscious, 


140  FORBEARANCE. 

and  proud,  and  domineering,  —  in  a  community  like 
this  (and  a  community  in  this  country  means  the 
government,  as  well  as  the  people),  there  is  danger 
that  forbearance,  public,  as  well  as  private,  will  be 
among  the  feeblest  of  its  virtues.  The  patriot  may 
well  tremble  at  the  prophecy  which  such  a  fact 
utters  for  the  future  history  of  his  country.  Happy 
will  it  be  for  this  nation,  when  it  shall  find  it  easy 
to  practise  forbearance  toward  other  nations.  "When 
it  will  prefer  the  fame  of  being  backward  to  resent 
(a  characteristic  its  power  may  well  permit),  to  the 
glory  of  being  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel. 

The  culture  of  this  generous  spirit  in  private  rela- 
tions will  alone  insure  its  activity  in  public  senti- 
ment and  public  legislation. 

There  is  a  little  fountain  of  this  Gospel  grace,  to 
which  I  again  allude,  to  help,  if  I  might,  its  per- 
petual flowing.  I  refer  to  the  home  culture  of  for- 
bearance. And,  beginning  at  the  very  root  of  the 
matter,  I  say  that  we  parents  may  contribute  more 
largely  than  any  or  all  others  to  the  supply  of  this 
virtue  in  our  households  and  in  the  community. 
"We  may  begin  our  benefaction  with  the  commence- 
ment of  parental  duty.  We  must  forbear  with  our 
children,  not  be  indulgent,  not  be  blind  to  their 
faults,  not  weary  in  efforts  at  discipline,  not  be 
weak  that  we  may  be  moral ;  but  we  must  forbear 
with  them.  That  is  to  say,  a  sense  of  personal  of- 
fence at  their  misconduct,  selfish  jealousy  of  the 
authority  of  our  own  laws,  must  never  rise  up  to 
inflame  our  rebukes  or  to  alloy  the  purity  of  our 
discipline.     An  intelligent  love  and  sympathy  for  our 


FORBEARANCE.  141 

children  will  beget  a  gentleness  of  relation,  a  patience 
and  a  self-restraint,  all  included  in  the  grace,  forbear- 
ance. Christ  vindicated  the  demonstrations  of  the 
spirit  of  God  from  the  disbelief  and  sneers  of  the 
Jews,  but  he  patiently  bore  the  contumely  that  was 
directed  to  himself.  Thus,  practising  this  virtue  in 
our  relation  as  parents,  we  shall  early  call  it  into 
being  in  the  hearts  of  our  children ;  and  they  who 
have  been  long  trained  at  home  under  its  genial  in- 
fluences will  carry  its  sweetness  into  the  activities 
of  manhood. 

I  would  help  this  counsel  to  forbearance  by  one 
specific  consideration.  It  is  only  with  the  living 
that  you  can  forbear.  The  dead  are  equally  beyond 
your  anger  and  your  patience.  A  touching  story 
recently  went  the  round  of  our  journals,  of  a  father 
who  impatiently  sent  his  little  son  —  a  noble  boy  — 
out  of  his  presence  for  a  violation  of  a  command; 
refusing  to  hear  any  explanation  of  the  disobedience. 
During  the  night,  a  fever  developed  itself  in  the 
lad ;  he  became  delirious,  and  died,  —  never  again 
recognizing  his  father.  That  father  would  have  given 
worlds  to  recall  his  harsh  words  to  the  little  pleader 
for  his  forbearance,  —  worlds  for  a  lucid  interval,  in 
which  he  might  implore  his  son's  forgiveness  for  his 
hard,  angry  sentence.  It  was  not  permitted  him. 
Afterward,  he  learned  that  the  little  hero  had  trans- 
gressed through  an  impulse  to  save  his  younger 
brother  from  drowning,  and  that  it  was  his  exposure, 
through  this  act,  that  brought  upon  him  the  fatal 
fever.  We  need  not  wonder  if  that  father  carried  to 
his  grave  a  pang  that  had  gnawed  daily  at  his  heart 
through  a  long  life. 


142  FORBEARANCE. 

So  it  may  be  with  any  one  of  us,  with  respect  to 
child,  friend,  or  even  stranger.  Bnt  oh !  may  God 
spare  us  the  bitter  necessity  of  ever  remembering,  in 
the  presence  of  the  dead,  words  or  acts  of  unkind 
or  angry  haste,  —  which  we  cannot  recall,  for  which 
we  can  entreat  no  pardon,  and  which  have  gone 
with  their  weight  of  injury  behind  the  veil.  What 
pang,  like  the  consciousness  of  an  irreparable  wrong! 
What  accusers,  like  the  voiceless  lips  of  the  dead ! 

A  word  now,  in  conclusion,  as  to  our  ability  to 
attain  this  grace.  I  believe  none  better  rewards  vig- 
ilance and  effort.  The  biographies  of  men  eminent 
for  their  sanctity  instruct  us  to  what  extent  this 
power  of  forbearance  may  grow  in  the  character. 
The  heathen  Socrates,  with  no  life  of  Christ  to  in- 
spire him,  brought  a  naturally  violent  temper  under 
restraint,  and  made  his  philosophy  beautiful  by  his 
forbearance.  George  Washington,  constitutionally 
quick  and  passionate,  achieved  many  a  conquest  over 
man  and  over  circumstances  through  his  prior  con- 
quest of  himself.  John  Wesley  melted  an  obstinate 
servant  by  the  display  of  meekness  and  patience. 
Doubtless,  there  are  many  among  our  acquaintances, 
whose  daily  record  tells  of  victories  in  this  field  of 
moral  action,  which  would  have  been  once  deemed 
impossible.  If  philosophy  have  ever  won  the  palm 
in  this  conflict  with  selfishness  and  passion,  surely, 
philosophy,  aided  by  Christian  conviction,  should  be 
sure  of  high  success.  If  we  have  never  made  the  ex- 
periment, let  us  try  it,  for  the  sake  of  the  direct 
blessings  which  the  attainment  brings,  and  for  the 
sake  of  the  aid  it  renders  to  other  spiritual  effort.    And 


FORBEARANCE.  143 

especially  may  we,  who  are  willing  to  be  called  dis- 
ciples of  Christ,  seek  a  virtue  that  shone  so  signifi- 
cantly in  his  life ;  and  without  which,  as  he  has  in 
substance  declared,  we  have  no  part  with  him. 


SERMON    VII. 

THE    KESUERECTION   AND    THE    LIFE. 

JESUS  SAID  TJNTO  HER,  "  I  AM  THE  RESURRECTION  AND  THE  LIFE  : 
HE  THAT  BELIEVETH  IN  ME,  THOUGH  HE  -WERE  DEAD,  YET 
SHALL  HE  LIVE  :  AND  WHOSOEVER  LIVETH  AND  BELIEVETH  IN 
ME,   SHALL  NEVER   DIE." — Johu  xi.  25. 

There  is  a  depth  and  solemnity  of  meaning  in 
this  passage  which  a  light  glance  at  it  cannot  meas- 
ure. Lotus  aim  to  penetrate  the  purport  of  this  re- 
markable utterance  of  Jesus  Christ. 

Martha  had  said  unto  Jesus,  "  I  know  that  he 
(Lazarus)  shall  rise  again,  in  the  resurrection  at  the 
last  day."  It  was  in  reply  to  this  saying  of  Martha, 
that  Jesus  spoke  the  words  of  the  text.  Martha's 
mind  was  fixed  upon  the  simple  physical  fact  of  the 
rising  of  the  body  unto  a  second  life.  Her  idea  did 
not  go  beyond  that  event.  It  did  not  question  con- 
cerning any  law,  or  seek  to  learn  concerning  the 
spirit  that  might  be  said  to  pertain  to  a  resurrection 
from  the  dead.  It  was  a  barren,  material  concep- 
tion. Her  heart,  bleeding  at  the  death  of  her  brother, 
wished  him  back  at  her  side.  She  would  not  wait 
until  the  great  scene  of  the  last  resurrection,  —  she 


THE    RESURRECTION    ANB    THE    LIFE.  145 

would  have  her  brother  then.  The  substance  of 
Jesus's  reply  to  her  was,  "  Lazarus  believed  in  me,  — 
my  spirit  dwelt  in  him  ;  and  having  such  a  faith, 
and  such  a  spirit,  he  is  already  risen  to  life,  — nay, 
more ;  he  has  never  died,  and  could  never  die." 

We  have  been  accustomed,  perhaps,  to  interpret 
the  first  clause  of  the  text,  "  I  am  the  resurrection 
and  the  life,"  by  itself;  regarding  it  as  expressing 
in  words  a  testimony  to  immortality  elsewhere  ex- 
pressed by  facts  of  Christ's  life.  With  respect  to  this 
testimony  to  immortality,  we  justly  affirm,  first,  that 
our  faith  in  the  doctrine  of  a  future  life  rests  in  part 
upon  the  declarations  of  Jesus.  His  mission  was  a 
supernatural  one,  —  his  life  was  a  special  manifesta- 
tion of  God,  —  a  power  beyond  human  dwelt  in  him. 
Knowledge  more  than  earthly  illumined  him.  His 
connection  with  the  Infinite  Source  of  truths  and 
realities  was  extraordinary  and  mysterious.  There- 
fore he  had  endowment  and  auiliority  to  affirm.  And 
as  these  affirmations  declare  the  undying  life  of  the 
soul,  we  incline  to  believe  on  the  mere  authority  of 
him  who  uttered  them ;  especially  since  there  is 
nothing  in  nature  or  reason  or  instinct  to  controvert 
them,  —  that  the  soul  is  immortal. 

We,  in  the  second  place,  justly  regard  Christ's 
words  in  testimony  to  a  future  life  as  emphasized 
by  certain /ads  of  his  history;  such  facts  especially 
as  the  raising  of  the  dead,  and  his  own  resurrection. 
Since  these  wonderful  events  were,  so  to  speak, 
products  of  Christ's  power,  or  of  God's  power  through 
him,  we  may  suppose  that  he  did  not  exclude  refer- 
ence to  such  products  as  bearing  witness  to  immor- 

13 


146      THE  RESURRECTION  AND  THE  LIFE. 

tality,  when  he  said,  "  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the 
life."  Yet  let  us  not  place  a  wrong  estimate  upon 
the  testimony  which  even  these  stupendous  miracles 
afford.  Of  themselves  they  seem  to  me  to  teach  the 
doctrine  of  immortality  rather  negatively  than  posi- 
tively. They  meet  all  our  objections  to  the  physical 
possibility  of  a  resurrection.  They  show  that  the 
decomposition  of  the  body  is  not  the  annihilation  of 
the  soul.  They  leave  all  the  inherent  energies  of 
the  living  man  unaffected  by  death.  The  divine 
spark  that  glows  within  him  is  not  extinguished 
when  the  flush  fades  from  his  countenance  and  the 
light  dies  out  of  his  eye.  The  argument  of  the  ma- 
terialist falls  to  naught.  He  says, "  Press  your  thumb 
upon  the  mass  which  we  call  brain,  and  the  being 
into  whose  faculties  that  brain  sent  life  and  intelli- 
gence falls  a  senseless  clod."  The  Gospel  miracles 
tell  us  that  the  mortal  body  is  the  dwelling  of  the 
spirit ;  and  that  into  whatever  ruin  the  dwelling  falls, 
its  tenant  survives  unharmed. 

But  the  declaration  of  Christ  which  we  are  pon- 
dering has  a  meaning  beside  either  of  the  two  to 
which  I  have  alluded.  "  I  am  the  Resurrection  and 
the  Life,"  says  Christ.  He  does  not  say  that  the 
raising  of  Lazarus  from  the  dead  will  make  such  a 
resurrection  sure,  or  that  his  own  rising  from  the 
dead  will  bear  witness  to  the  immortal  life,  but  he 
says,  "Jam  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life";  that 
is,  his  spirit,  his  purposes,  his  affections,  his  aspi- 
rations, tlie  quality  arid  condition  oj  his  soul,  are  ele- 
ments of  being  that  cannot  perish,  are  the  germ  of  a 
life  whose  limit  and  end  are  pot  the  grave.     And  the 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  THE  LIFE.  147 

latter  part  of  the  text  bears  out  this  interpretation 
of  the  former  clause ;  for  the  Saviour  declares  sub- 
stantially that  this  life  is  communicable.  He  asserts, 
as  if  it  were  his  loftiest  prerogative,  that  he  is  the 
Fountain  of  that  life  to  others.  But  how  ?  Through 
faith  in  him.  "  He  that  helieveth  in  me,  though  he 
were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live ;  and  whosoever  liveth 
and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  die."  All  that  Christ 
here  means  by  life  is  linked  io  faith;  a  faith,  not 
that  looks  on  and  assents  and  wonders,  but  a  faith 
that  clings  to,  that  loves,  that  partakes  of,  that  de- 
lights in  the  spirit  and  affections  of  the  Saviour. 

If  these  suggestions  approach  the  real  meaning  of 
the  passage  under  consideration,  if  they  hint  at  the 
true  solution  of  the  problem,  not  of  natural,  but  of 
Gospel  immortality,  how  far  away  do  they  leave  the 
ordinary,  dogmatic  inculcations  of  the  Church.  I 
will  not  divert  your  minds  too  long  by  a  considera- 
tion of  these  dogmas,  but  I  cannot  leave  them  un- 
mentioned. 

The  doctrine  of  Christ,  in  the  text,  I  hold  to  be 
this.  It  seems  to  me  to  admit  of  no  doubt  and  of 
no  qualification.  It  is  only  by  participation  in  the 
spiritual  elements  of  ChrisVs  being,  that  lie  ivho  is 
dead  can  live,  and  that  he  ivho  lives  shall  not  die. 
And  if  I  may  throw  in  my  own  comment  here,  I 
would  say,  that  it  was  for  this  purpose  that  Christ 
was  sent  into  the  world,  —  to  impart  to  trusting 
souls  a  life  which,  without  him,  they  could  not  find. 
He  declares,  "  As  I  live  by  the  Father,  so  shall  ye 
live  by  me."  And  how  did  Christ  live  by  the  Fa- 
ther ?    By  losing  his  own  will  in  the  Infinite  "Will,  — 


148  THE    RESURRECTION    AND  THE  LIFE. 

by  embosoming  his  own  life  in  the  life  of  God. 
Thus  he  drank  of  immortality  from  Him  who  alone 
hath  it. 

How  are  ive  to  live  by  Christ  ?  Solely,  by  lean- 
ing upon  his  breast,  with  humble  love,  so  that  into 
our  hearts  his  spirit  may  pass ;  that  the  immortality 
which  filled  his  soul  from  the  outpouring  of  the  life 
of  God  may  flow  into  and  around  our  souls. 

But  the  teachings  of  much  of  the  prevailing  theol- 
ogy, —  do  they  recognize  such  a  necessity  for  the 
human  soul  ?  Do  they  find  any  such  basis  for  sal- 
vation ?  They  make  Christ  nominally,  nay,  —  with 
how  profound  an  emphasis,  —  the  source  of  the 
soul's  hope ;  but  do  not  some  of  their  propositions 
take  a  shape  that  renders  such  a  relation  to  Christ 
as  the  text  makes  indisputably  essential,  of  subor- 
dinate, almost  of  no  consequence  ?  How  does,  how 
can  a  dogma  that  asserts  the  indispensableness  of 
a  belief  in  certain  propositions  concerning  Christ's 
metaphysical  nature,  or  concerning  the  unfathoma- 
ble mystery  of  his  union  with  God,  or  concerning 
the  nature  and  direction  of  the  effect  which  his  death 
exercised  upon  the  possibilities  of  the  divine  admin- 
istration,—  how  can  any  such  dogma  do  anything 
but  impair  the  obligation,  chill  the  desire  which  a 
soul  must  feel  toward  a  reception  of  the  Saviour's 
spirit?  Metaphysics  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
pulses  of  a  divine  life.  A  scholastic  theology  is  a 
bleached,  rattling  skeleton.  Beneath  its  ribs  no 
heart  of  practical  and  transforming  faith  can  beat. 
"  He  that  liveth  and  believeth  in  me,  not  about  me," 
says  Christ,  "  shall  never  die."     When  the  hour  of 


THE     RESURRECTION   AND    THE   LIFE.  149 

test  shall  come  to  us,  it  will  not  catechize  us  upon 
the  subtleties  of  doctrine.  It  will  not  rank  us  accord- 
ing to  our  schools  of  metaphysical  opinions.  It  will 
close  its  eye  to  the  inscription  on  our  intellects; 
but  it  will  simply  lay  open  our  affections,  and  seek 
what  there  is  of  Christ-like  quality  in  them,  and  so 
determine  their  claim  to  "the  Resurrection  and  the 
Life."  This  faith  that  seems  to  be  prescribed  as 
the  condition  of  our  immortality  is  a  positive  convic- 
tion of  the  heart,  is  a  controlling  energy  of  the  affec- 
tions, is  a  religious,  Christian  direction  of  the  will. 

Here  an  objection  may  arise  to  the  present  inter- 
pretation of  Christ's  words,  that  they  make  im- 
mortality conditional.  There  may  seem  to  you  an 
implication  in  what  has  been  said  that  they  who  do 
not  believe  in  Christ  are  not  immortal.  Does  not 
this  doctrine,  you  inquire,  teach  the  annihilation  of 
the  wicked  ?  I  might  answer,  "  No  matter  what  it 
teaches,  if  it  be  true."  I  might  say,  "  Let  no  philo- 
sophical theories,  let  no  theological  adjustments,  let 
no  consideration  for  the  fate  of  sinners,  let  no 
shrinking  of  our  instincts  step  forward  to  disallow  a 
plain  statement,  or  a  plain  interpretation  of  a  state- 
ment of  Jesus  of  Nazareth."  I  might  ask,  "  Does 
not  the  text  imply,  does  it  not  substantially,  unam- 
biguously teach,  that  he  who  does  not  believe  in 
Christ,  living,  shall  die,  and  dying,  shall  not  live 
again  ?  "  Ponder  these  often-repeated  words,  and 
see  if  they  teach  anything  else,  if  they  do  not  pre- 
scribe a  condition  of  immortality. 

But  it  does  not  follow  that  a  simple  future  exist- 
ence is  made  conditional  by  the  words  of  Christ.    It 

13* 


150  THE    RESURRECTION    AND  THE  LIFE. 

does  not  follow  that  they  who  have  no  belief  in  him 
are  literally  to  perish,  —  to  be  annihilated;  for  the 
words  life  and  death  in  Scripture  have  reference 
rather  to  conditions  of  being  than  to  the  bare  facts 
of  existence  or  non-existence.  Life,  —  death,  they 
are  the  contrastive  terms  for  states  of  the  soul.  All 
that  is  worthy,  desirable,  blissful,  glorious,  is  involved 
in  the  descriptive  epithet,  life.  All  that  is  desolate 
and  wretched  is  signified  by  the  epithet,  death. 
Heaven  is  synonymous  with  the  one ;  hell  with  the 
other.  Then  immortality,  as  a  Gospel  term,  does 
not  mean  deathlessness,  but  an  everlasting  life  of 
peace  and  joy.  And  it  is  less,  far  less,  the  intent  of 
Christ  to  affirm  the  continuance  of  being  after  death, 
than  to  show  what  shall  crown  that  being  with  bless- 
edness,—  than  to  cheer  on  all  virtue  and  all  faith, 
by  pointing  to  their  awards,  —  than  to  gather  up  the 
infinite  sanctions  of  a  never-ending  future  to  inspire 
and  direct  the  present.  Poor,  poor  work  of  Christ, 
had  it  been  limited  to  that  barren  disclosure  of  a 
re-arising.  Immortal  life  was  not  his  original  revela- 
tion,—  it  was  fluttering  on  the  confines  of  men's 
belief.  The  great  mass  of  mankind  never  credited 
that  the  grave  folded  the  soul  as  well  as  the  body  in 
everlasting  decay ;  but  Christ  brought  this  dim  fact 
forward,  substantiated  it,  expounded  it,  set  forth  its 
conditions,  sought  to  make  it  real ;  and  strove  to 
lodge  it,  not  among  the  superstitions  nor  the  philo- 
sophic theories  of  the  world,  but  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  believing  creature.  He  would  not  write 
it,  as  upon  the  wall  with  a  phosphoric  gleam,  but 
upon  the  soul,  in  letters  that  should  burn  as  with 


THE    RESURRECTION    AND  THE  LIFE.  151 

fire.     It  was  thus  that  he  "  brought  life  and  immor- 
tality to  lights 

What  a  striking  comment  are  the  words  of  John 
upon  the  thought  I  am  urging.  "  He  that  hath  the 
Son  hath  life."  He  in  whose  heart  the  spirit  of 
Jesus  dwells  possesses  the  inextinguishable  elements 
of  felicity  now,  —  of  felicity  for  ever. 

It  is  common  in  the  burial  service  to  say  over  the 
dead,  "  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life ;  he  that 
believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he 
live  ;  and  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall 
never  die,"  —  or  as  some  translations  more  strongly 
render  it,  "  shall  not  die  eternally.''^  With  the  inter- 
pretation,  which  I  urge  of  this  passage,  it  is  easy  to 
see  what  a  source  of  consolation  it  should  be  to 
those  who  are  mourning  the  departure  of  the  humble- 
minded  and  the  pious.  What  does  Christ  say  to 
you,  mourner,  concerning  that  relative  or  friend 
whose  marble  features  look  upward  from  that  coffin- 
head  ?  He  tells  you  that  the  life  of  that  dear  one 
was  not  inwrought  in  those  tissues  of  clay,  that  it 
did  not  dwell  in  the  simple  animate  principle,  but 
that  it  lay  enfolded  in  the  loving  heart.,  whose  earthly 
beating  has  ceased.  He  tells  you  the  faith  which 
was  nurtured  in  that  breast  was  the  germ  of  unfad- 
ing blessedness,  that  there  was  a  life  there,  hidden 
with  Christ  in  God,  and  that,  in  the  midst  of  all 
these  shows  of  sadness  and  admonitions  of  decay, 
that  life  is  still  hid  with  Christ  in  God,  as  it  were, 
disallowing  these  gloomy  demonstrations,  chiding 
your  tears,  and  saying  to  you,  "  If  you  have  faith  as 
a  grain  of  mustard-seed  in  the  risen  Saviour,  believe 


152  THE    RESURRECTION   AND    THE    LIFE. 

that  I  your  friend  —  an  imperfect  but  an  earnest 
believer  in  Christ  —  have  been  accepted  by  God's 
grace  into  the  companionship  of  the  redeemed." 

There  is  no  mystery  in  the  condition  of  immor- 
tality which  I  have  presented.  I  could  almost  find 
illustration  of  the  differences  of  condition  that  attend 
faith  or  faithlessness  in  Christ,  in  the  common 
world,  setting  aside  all  reference  to  the  presence  or 
absence  of  a  vital  Christian  principle. 

Take  two  characters  out  of  the  circle  of  daily, 
practical  life.  Here  is  one,  courteous  and  kind- 
hearted.  He  thinks  of  the  comforts  and  wants  of 
others  as  well  as  of  his  own.  He  is  not  seeking 
his  own  profit  to  others'  damage.  He  is  sensitive  to 
their  rights,  whether  of  property,  speech,  or  charac- 
ter. He  has  sympathies,  good  counsels,  friendly 
attentions,  generous  gifts.  The  world  calls  him 
"  noble."     Men  say,  "  He  has  a  soulP 

There  is  another,  hard,  cold,  calculating,  selfish. 
Nobody  warms  up  in  his  presence.  Nobody  catches 
any  generous  enthusiasm  from  his  spirit.  Rare  are 
the  circumstances  that  draw  forth  from  him  self- 
forgetful  sympathies,  disinterested  services,  or  that 
common  form  of  favor,  —  money.  Princely-hearted 
men  loathe  such  a  character,  —  every  eye  can  note 
its  meanness ;  observers  say,  as  with  a  common 
voice,  "  That  man  has  no  souU^ 

There  is  something  of  truth  in  this  classification 
of  the  street.  There  is  something  in  the  one  man 
that  suggests  growth,  immortality  ;  the  power,  prog- 
ress, and  felicity  that  belong  to  a  soul,  —  and  there 
is  something  in  the  other    man  that  suggests  the 


THE    RESURRECTION    AND    THE    LIFE.  153 

cramping  and  the  withering  of  all  that  might  be 
noble  and  glorious  within.  That  degradation  and 
barrenness  of  a  nature  without  a  soul. 

Suppose  now  you  add  the  Christian  element  to 
the  former  attractive  character.  In  the  heart  of  it 
you  plant  a  sturdy  conscience,  written  all  over  with 
the  fear  of  God.  You  open  within  it  the  fountain 
of  Gospel  charities,  —  you  see  there  a  trembling 
dread  of  sin,  —  a  mingling  of  trust  and  pray  erf ulness 
toward  God, —  a  steadfast  and  grateful  faith  toward 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Then  tell  me,  my  brethren, 
whether  the  contrast  between  these  two  individuals 
be  not  as  the  contrast  of  light  with  darkness,  —  of 
life  with  death  ?  Is  there  not  something  in  that 
character  that  should  seem  to  say,  "  it  shall  live,"  — 
while  this  character  should  a  thousand  times  perish  ! 

Such  is  my  idea  of  the  meaning  of  the  language 
of  Jesus  in  the  text.  Man,  in  the  first  birth  of  the 
senses  and  the  appetites,  lives  without  belief  in 
Christ.  Man,  in  the  second  birth  of  the  spirit,  lives 
with  the  belief  in  the  Son  of  God.  The  state  of  the 
former  is  a  species  of  death.  To  man,  as  a  moral 
and  spiritual  being,  possessing  heavenly  opportuni- 
ties, having  relation  with  invisible  glories,  and  en- 
dowed to  commune  with  God,  it  is  death,  —  death 
here  and  hereafter.  The  state  of  the  latter  is  life, — 
the  flowering  of  all  the  beautiful  sensibilities  of  the 
heart,  —  the  fruitage  of  all  practical  duties, —  the 
sense  of  a  peace  that  passeth  understanding,  and  of 
a  joy  that  cannot  decay. 

My  brethren  !  it  is  but  a  very  small  item  of  a  wise 
man's  faith,  or  of  a  Christian's  creed,  that  the  spirit 


154        THE  RESURRECTION  AND  THE  LIFE. 

shall  survive  death.  There  is  no  drier  conception 
in  the  mind,  than  that  of  a  natural  and  necessary 
immortality  merely.  What  is  life,  —  what  is  the 
longest  life  on  earth,  apart  from  its  moral  condition, 
—  from  its  experiences  of  joy  or  sorrow  ?  It  is 
nothing,  —  a  mere  abstraction,  —  a  dream  !  So  im- 
mortality is  nothing  to  you,  apart  from  its  conditions. 
You  may  survive  the  grave,  —  you  may  live /or  eve?', 
and  yet  perish.  For,  without  affections,  the  root 
and  the  fruit  of  faith  in  Christ,  your  life  will  yet 
show,  if  it  have  not  already  shown  itself,  alienated 
from  holy  things  and  holy  beings,  —  dreary,  mis- 
erable, unblessed.  And  this  is  precisely  the  state 
against  which  the  whole  Gospel  directs  its  warn- 
ings, and  which  the  sacred  teachers  designate  by 
the  term  "  death  " ;  and  out  of  which  God  sent  his 
dear  Son  to  deliver  us,  and  for  which  end  that  Son 
died. 

It  is  a  delightful  testimony  to  the  truth  of  what 
has  been  urged  in  this  discourse,  that  persons,  in 
proportion  to  the  elevation  of  their  moral  natures, 
in  proportion  to  the  nearness  of  their  souls  to  God, 
have  had  awakened  within  them  a  faith  in,  a  con- 
sciousness of,  immortality  ;  as  if  there  were  some- 
thing in  goodness,  in  spiritual  life,  that  not  only 
cannot  die,  but  that  so  discloses  itself  to  the  soul. 
Such  was  the  case  even  among  the  heathen.  Said 
Socrates  to  his  friends  who  stood  around  him  after 
he  had  drunk  the  hemlock,  "  Do  you  think  that 
the  body  which  you  will  soon  see  lying  here  cold 
and  stiff  is  myself?  /  shall  be  gone."  And  how 
is  this  sense  of  the   supremacy  and  eternal  life  of 


THE    RESURRECTION    AND    THE    LIFE.  155 

the  soul  intensified  in  the  heart  of  the  Christian 
believer  !  O,  you  cannot  quench  his  faith  in  an 
existence  of  endless  blessedness  !  No  philosophies, 
no  sophistries,  no  dark  passages  of  his  life,  no  ex- 
amples of  scepticism  and  indifference  can  put  out 
the  light  of  his  trust  in  God  and  in  his  Christ. 
Living  and  believing  in  Jesus,  the  record  is  on  his 
soul  that  he  shall  never  die. 

Are  you  not  then,  my  hearers,  urged  by  the  most 
solemn  necessities  of  your  being,  as  well  as  by  your 
highest  hopes,  to  a  faith  in  Jesus  Christ  ?  Can  you 
with  indiflerence  anticipate  an  immortality  which, 
through  your  practical  unbelief  in  Christ,  will  be  to 
you,  not  life,  but  death  ? 

Blessed  be  God  for  the  helps  he  has  given  to  the 
faith  of  his  children,  —  that,  as  we  gaze  up  to  heav- 
en, we  may  see  Jesus,  the  Author  and  Finisher  of 
our  faith,  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father!  He  who 
burst  the  doors  of  the  sfepulchre  by  his  exaltation 
into  glory  reminds  us  continually  of  his  triumph 
over  the  last  enemy  ;  and  we  feel  that,  participating 
in  his  might  through  faith,  and  experiencing  the 
grace  of  his  perpetual  intercession,  we  too  shall  rise 
again,  —  not  to  an  exile  of  darkness  and  sorrow,  but 
to  a  communion  of  everlasting  joy. 


SERMON    VIII. 

FAITHFUL  IN  LITTLE,  FAITHFUL  IN  MUCH. 


HE   THAT    IS   FAITHFUL    IN    THAT    WHICH    IS    LEAST,   IS    FAITHFUL 
ALSO    IN   MUCH  :     AND    HE    THAT     IS    UNJUST    IN     THE   LEAST,   IS 

UNJUST  ALSO  IN  MUCH.  —  Luke  xvL  10. 


Let  me  seek  to  impress  upon  you  the  moral  and 
spiritual  fact  or  law  here  set  forth.  It  is  a  fact  of 
man's  condition,  the  law  of  his  experiences.  The 
fact  or  law  may  be  expressed  as  follows.  As  a  man 
is  in  trifling  matters,  so  he  is  in  graver  concerns. 

You  may  incline  at  first  to  object  and  say,  "  Some 
men  take  latitude  in  insignificant  transactions,  but 
they  are  scrupulous  in  affairs  of  moment."  Per- 
haps you  may  make  a  personal  matter  of  it,  and  say, 
"  lam  conscientious  in  things  of  importance,  though 
I  may  occasionally  swerve  a  little  in  deeds  or  deal- 
ings of  small  consequence."  Or  you  may  fix  your 
eye  on  a  neighbor,  and  say,  "  He  is  without  reproach 
in  his  more  conspicuous  relations  and  duties,  though, 
it  may  be,  not  so  rigid  in  some  inferior  dealings. 
There  is  Mr.  A.,  for  example,  he  pays  all  his 
large  bills,  and  is  slack  only  on  penny  matters. 
There  is  Mr.  B.,  he  has  been  an  officer  of  a  corpo- 
ration   many   years,   large    sums    of    money    have 


FAITHFUL    IN    LITTLE,    FAITHFUL    IN    MUCH.       157 

passed  through  his  hands.  In  his  accounts  he  was 
never  behind  a  minute  in  time  nor  a  mill  in  amount. 
There  are  charges  against  his  punctuality  and  in- 
tegrity in  his  private  pecuniary  concerns,  but  he  is, 
on  the  whole,  an  honest  and  an  honorable  man." 
Or  of  another  you  may  incline  to  say,  "  His  de- 
meanor is  always  decorous  and  humane ;  he  treats 
me,  and  he  treats  all,  as  a  gentleman  should  ;  he 
appears  amiable  in  his  family,  and  men  love  his 
companionship.  There  are,  indeed,  times  (when 
some  favorite  purpose  is  *  to  be  gained)  when  he 
loses  temper,  and  lets  slip  some  severe  words,  and 
some  heartless  deeds,  but,  on  the  whole,  he  is  a  val- 
uable neighbor,  and  a  good  man." 

And  the  world  may  appear  to  you  to  furnish 
abundant  examples  of  similar  distinctions,  so  that 
you  are  inclined  to  say,  "  A  man  may  be  somewhat 
slack  in  obscure  departments  of  conduct,  but  he  is 
not,  therefore,  necessarily  remiss  in  all."  And  as  I 
at  first  said,  your  own  experience  comes  up  ear- 
nestly to  fortify  this  conclusion.  You  cannot  dis- 
guise to  yourself  that  you  are  somewhat  loose  in 
some  paths  of  action.  That  you  deliberately  come 
short  of  full  duty  in  some  spheres  of  minor  respon- 
sibility ;  you  are  too  candid  to  deny  this,  but  as  you 
look  at  wider  departures  from  what  is  exactly  just, 
you  exclaim  with  Hazael,  "  Is  thy  servant  a  do^, 
that  he  should  do  this  thing  ?  "  But  the  world  has 
always  found  it  hard  work  to  doubt  a  clear  Bible 
doctrine,  and  it  is  only  the  superficial  glance  that 
inclines  to  doubt  the  doctrine  of  the  text. 

Mark,  then,  the  distinction  to  be  drawn  in  the  out- 

14 


158       FAITHFUL    IN    LITTLE,    FAITHFUL    IN    MUCH. 

set  between  the  direction  of  such  observations  as 
have  just  been  quoted  and  the  direction  towards 
which  the  Gospel  precept  looks.  Those  all  discrim- 
inate about  a  man's  actions,  this  speaks  of  man's 
condition.  Those  declare  what  a  man  does,  or  what 
he  does  not;  this  affirms  what  he  is,  or  what  he  is 
not;  and  it  might  be  all  true,  that  a  man  should 
shun  certain  deeds  of  villany,  yet  be  a  villain,  or 
perform  certain  acts  required  by  honesty,  yet  not 
be  honest. 

The  Gospel  does  not  deal  with  such  superficial 
things,  such  debatable  affairs,  .  such  possible  illu- 
sions as  mere  deeds.  It  always  leaps  within  the 
boundary  of  manual  operations  to  inspect  the  secret 
things  of  the  soul.  It  lays  its  hand  on  conscience, 
establishes  itself  among  the  thoughts,  the  aims,  and 
the  motives,  and  says,  "  Here  is  my  domain,  my 
judgments,  and  my  sanctions  concern  this  realm 
alone ;  if  you  read  the  title-page,  I  decipher  the 
great  meaning  of  the  Book  itself." 

Before  you  decide,  then,  as  to  the  truth  of  the 
Scripture  maxim,  that,  "  he  who  is  faithful  or  un- 
faithful in  the  least,  is  faithful  or  unfaithful  also  in 
much,"  you  must  take  a  different  stand-point  from 
that  which  has  furnished  you  with  opinions. 

But  before  looking  from  this  new  ground,  let  me 
ask  you  to  prolong  your  survey  in  the  direction 
already  taken,  that  is,  on  the  outside  of  a  man's 
being,  and  note  whether,  even  here,  there  are  not 
some  indications  afforded  that  the  Gospel  is  true. 

Have  you  never  seen  the  development  of  such  in- 
consistent courses  as  you  have  described?     There  is 


FAITHFUL  IN  LITTLE,  FAITHFUL  IN  MUCH.    159 

an  end  as  well  as  a  beginning,  and  a  middle  of  such 
courses.  Do  you  always  discern  this  end,  so  that  it 
hold  in  check  the  judgment  which  you  would  form 
from  the  beginning  and  the  middle  ?  Have  you  not 
seen  certain  characters  which  were  stainless  to  the 
public  eye  (yet  which  you  knew  were  lax  in  hidden 
directions),  by  degrees,  or  suddenly,  and  without  de- 
gree, by  some  deed  of  flagrant  wickedness,  come 
crashing  to  the  ground,  in  moral  ruin  ?  And  if  you 
have,  you  are  prepared,  in  such  case,  to  think  that 
the  injustice  in  the  little  was  also  injustice  in  the 
much,  only  the  time  for  the  latter  exhibition  had  not 
come. 

It  is  not  uncommon  for  a  great  peculation  to  unveil 
itself  all  at  once ;  though  the  dishonesty  that  rolled 
up  such  an  amount  of  turpitude  has  been  silently 
working  for  years.  The  defaulter  for  a  hundred  thou- 
sand to-day  is  no  more  a  defaulter  than  he  was 
twenty  years  ago,  when  he  first  abstracted  for  his 
private  use  from  the  bank  vaults  or  the  public  purse. 
And  if  your  eye  could  then  have  seen  all  the  deeds 
of  the  man,  you  would  not  have  been  inclined  to 
admit  that  his  want  of  integrity  in  subordinate  mat- 
ters was  cancelled  or  overborne  to  the  honor  of  his 
conscience  by  his  scrupulousness  in  matters  of  great 
account.  No!  it  is  no  way  to  judge  of  a  man  to 
inspect  his  actions,  unless  you  can  by  such  inspec- 
tion see  through  the  husk  to  the  moral  kernel. 

Look,  then,  at  the  conscience,  not  at  the  deed,  as 
the  Gospel  looks,  and  see  if  it  be  not  true  that  the 
little  will  furnish  a  test  for  the  much. 

Here  is  a  man's  moral  nature,  his  whole  being, 


160        FAITHFUL  IN  LITTLE,  FAITHFUL  IN  MUCH. 

in  its  relation  to  duty,  to  faith,  to  righteousness,  to 
God  brought  into  collision  with  some  deed  (if  I  may 
suppose  the  deed  to  be  something  out  of  the  man). 
Now  does  it  matter,  so  far  as  the  man  is  concerned, 
so  far  as  the  result  of  his  collision  is  concerned,  so 
far  as  the  moral  complexion  of  his  surrender  or  of  his 
resistance  is  involved,  whether  the  deed  be  petty  or 
mighty  ?  So  far  as  Adam's  moral  being  was  affected 
by  his  disobedience,  did  it  matter  whether  it  was 
the  transgression  of  a  decree  prohibiting  the  eating  of 
an  apple  or  the  murder  of  a  world  ?  If  a  sheet  of 
glass  be  shattered,  is  it  of  consequence  whether  the 
ruin  were  affected  by  a  pebble  or  by  aPaixhan  ball? 
Conscience  is  like  the  sensitive  plant.  Touch  it 
with  sin,  and  it  curls  and  droops,  whether  the  instru- 
ment of  contact  be  a  hair  or  the  "  mast  of  some  High 
Admiral."  If  I  have  bowed  before  evil,  it  is  of  no 
account  whether  the  evil  lay  in  a  word  of  yours  or 
in  the  lifting  of  your  finger,  or  whether  it  lay  in 
the  environment  of  a  legion  of  seducers.  I  have 
fallen,  sin  is  on  my  soul,  —  sin  foreseen,  sin  avoid- 
able. I  am  not  what  I  was,  —  I  cannot  be  what  I 
was.  What  a  profound  observer  says  of  Truth  is 
predicable  of  the  conscience  :  "  It  regards  with  the 
same  serenity  the  lightest  and  the  boldest  violations 
of  its  law.  There  are  some  faults  slight  in  the  sight 
of  Love ;  some  errors  slight  in  the  estimate  of  wis- 
dom, but  conscience  forgives  no  insult  and  endures 
710  stain." 

When  I  hear  one  saying  of  another,  "  He  is  un- 
faithful in  those  little  things,  but  faithful  under  these 
great  trusts,"  I  am  ready  to  ask,  "  Can  a  sunbeam 


FAITHFUL   IN  LITTLE,  FAITHFUL  IN  MUCH.         161 

glance  with  splendor  through  mighty  oaks,  and 
athwart  towering  precipices,  yet  fall  as  a  black 
shadow  on  blades  of  grass  and  on  grains  of  sand  ? 
Can  a  spring  that  fills  a  goblet  with  poisoned  waters 
fill  a  reservoir  with  healthy  waters  ?  So,  can  one 
be  an  honest  man  before  great  deeds,  yet  a  dishonest 
one  before  small  ones  ?  " 

In  estimating  moral  condition,  it  is  not  easy  to  de- 
cide whether  one  can  properly  be  termed  just  or  un- 
just, faithful  or  faithless.  A  man  may  fall  owce,  but 
his  conscience,  strong  and  in  agony,  may  spring  up 
and  reassert  itself.  In  the  language  of  Milton,  it 
may  be  true,  that, 

"  From  this  his  descent 
Celestial  virtues  rising  will  appear, 
More  glorious  and  more  dread  than  from  no  fall." 

You  could  not  say  such  a  man  is  unjust,  or  faith- 
less. There  are,  there  will  be,  lapses  with  good,  with 
Christian  men,  for  all  are  covered  with  mortal  infirm- 
ities. A  just  man  is  now  and  then  wwjust,  a 
faithful  man  is  now  and  then  faithless  ;  but  it  is 
under  protest  of  the  conscience,  it  is  under  penalties 
of  remorse,  it  is  under  a  baptism  of  tears.  The  soul 
is  still  like  the  eagle,  having  its  eyry  on  the  dizzy 
peak,  and  its  flight  in  the  upper  air,  from  which  it 
has  stooped  to  do  a  wrong,  out  of  which,  in  shame 
and  in  prayer,  it  again  soars. 

Different,  altogether,  is  such  a  man,  from  him  who 
transgresses  heedlessly  or  habitually  in  small  things. 
This  one  is  a  sinner.  His  sphere  is  truly  the  bog 
and  the  ditch,  and  if  he  ever  breast  the  sunlight  and 

f4» 


162  FAITHFUL   IN   LITTLE,   FAITHFUL   IN  MUCH, 

the  breeze,  it  is  for  some  end,  beside  the  gratification 
of  the  native  longings  of  his  spirit.  It  is  a  common 
and  it  is  a  true  maxim,  that  a  man  is  disclosed  in  his 
relation  to  little  things.  What  he  is,  seen  through 
the  microscope  of  a  tiny  fact,  he  is,  seen  through  the 
lens  of  a  signal  event  or  of  an  entire  life.  It  is  the 
petty  annoyances  within  the  domestic  inclosure,  not 
the  mighty  vexations  of  public  station,  that  reveal 
the  temper  of  man  or  of  woman.  It  is  the  disposi- 
tion to  kindliness  in  the  familiar  circles,  and  in  unob- 
trusive directions,  that  betrays  the  disinterestedness 
of  the  heart.  The  cupidity  that  hoards  the  dollars, 
was  the  penuriousness  that  saved  the  dimes.  If  a 
man  in  these  by-paths  of  life  show  himself  just  and 
faithful,  sure  it  is  that  he  will  so  show  himself  on  the 
high-ways  of  life. 

When  you  pass  out  of  the  strictly  moral  sphere, 
possibly  these  remarks  may  admit  of  some  qualifica- 
tion. I  have  heard  of  men  being  careful  of  their 
small  earnings,  and  prodigal  of  larger  sums;  of 
their  being  heedless  with  respect  to  the  details  of 
their  business,  but  circumspect  with  regard  to  its 
prominent  claims ;  but  such  cases  will,  I  apprehend, 
when  closely  analyzed,  fall  under  the  general  rule. 

Before  closing  this  train  of  thought,  I  appeal  once 
more  to  your  individual  consciousness.  Does  not 
the  Gospel  declare  the  w^hole  truth  of  the  matter  ? 
Look  closely  into  your  supposed  scrupulousness  with 
regard  to  prominent  acts ;  especially  if  you  are  con- 
scious of  some  laxity  in  your  less  significant  transac- 
tions. You  may  ask  yourself,  Why  does  not  that 
unconcernedness  in  minute  aifairs  extend  to  affairs 


FAITHFUL  IN  LITTLE,  FAITHFUL  IN  MUCH.         163 

of  magnitude?  Is  it  due  to  conscience  that  this 
is  not  the  case  ?  Suppose  your  conscience  easily 
evades  the  paying  of  a  s?7iall  debt,  is  it  your  keen 
moral  sense  that  pays  the  larger  one  ?  Do  no  other 
elements  creep  in  to  compel  such  payment,  which 
elements  have  no  afHnity  with  the  moral  sense  ?  In  the 
latter  case,  there  is  a  calculation  of  the  consequences 
to  yourself  of  non-payment  of  so  considerable  a  sum, 
the  community  would  brand  the  neglect,  neighbors 
would  withdraw  their  confidence,  social  and  business 
facilities  would  be  abridged.  You  could  not  endure 
the  public  mark  of  fraud  or  dishonesty.  Or  possibly 
your  benevolent  impulses  might  take  the  side  of 
duty,  by  suggesting  the  loss  or  suffering  which  your 
dishonesty  on  so  large  a  scale  would  entail  on  your 
creditor;  —  but  in  such,  and  in  all  kindred  transac- 
tions, is  your  conscience  the  agent  ?  Does  a  con- 
science ever  argue  in  this  wise,  "  Here  are  two 
duties,  as  duties  equally  obligatory.  I  may  neglect 
this  one  with  no  moral  peril,  but  that  one  I  am  con- 
strained to  perform  ?  Never  I  unless  as  a  dying 
speech!  But  how  constrained,  —  by  the  revived  or 
remaining  life  of  that  conscience  ?  No !  but  by 
the  judgment,  by  the  calculations  of  prudence,  by 
pride,  or  by  vainglory.  Emotions  all  outside  of  the 
moral  and  spiritual  man. 

I  shall  now  offer  one  or  two  practical  inferences 
from  what  has  been  said. 

Every  man  has  the  criterion  of  his  life  hourly 
before  him,  and  with  any  disposition  to  self-inspec- 
tion, he  may  suffer  from  no  delusion  touching  his 
moral  state.  It  is  the  fine  print  of  minute  and  mo- 
mentary experiences  that  will  teach  him  the  truth, 


164         FAITHFUL   IN   LITTLE,  FAITHFUL   IN  MUCH. 

rather  than  the  coarse  block-type  of  larger  and  rarer 
deeds.  He  has  only  to  scan  closely,  and  to  ponder 
wisely,  this  page  of  important  disclosure. 

Secondly,  the  sphere  of  duty,  of  profitable  ex- 
perience, of  discipline,  lies  immediately  about  us. 
God  has  placed  the  leaves  of  vast  moral  issues 
directly  in  our  hands.  Duty,  like  the  Deity,  encom- 
passes us,  —  we  need  not  feel  around,  if  happily  we 
may  find  it,  for  it  is  near  to  each  one  of  us. 

Some,  after  reading  the  biography  of  Oberlin  or  of 
Howard,  of  Fry  or  of  Tuckerman,  might  say,  O  if  I 
only  had  the  sphere  and  the  opportunities  of  doing 
such  good,  and  in  such  a  way,  how  devotedly  would 
I  labor!  Would  you  so?  Has  no  opportunity  of 
doing  a  similar  good  been  presented  to  you  the  past 
week,  which  you  have  neglected  ?  Are  you  now  in 
the  path  of  benevolent  action,  thinking,  contriving, 
counselling,  giving,  doing,  praying  for  your  unhappy 
fellow-men  ?  Have  you,  since  that  biography  stirred 
your  aspirations,  dried  a  single  tear,  relieved  a  single 
want,  lightened  a  single  burden,  dispelled  a  single 
prejudice,  struck  down  a  single  temptation,  nerved  a 
single  failing  heart?  What!  with  such  a  domain 
of  opportunity  about  you,  have  you  done  little  or 
nothing  toward  one  of  these  ends  ?  Alas  !  that  you 
should  think  it  possible  (thus  shunning  the  privileges 
which  God  crowds  into  your  daily  life)  that  you 
could  toil  over  the  world  in  pilgrimages,  and  search 
out  all  loathsome  forms  of  suffering,  and  carry  heal- 
ing to  the  worst  diseases  of  the  soul ! 

If  God  had  made  such  ostentatious  services  ne- 
cessary for  the  discipline  of  man,  what  an  outcry 
there  would  have  been  against  his  administration ; 


FAITHFUL  IN  LITTLE,  FAITHFUL  IN  MUCH.        165 

but  now  that  he  has  made  virtue  accessible  to  the 
very  humblest,  what  indifference  to  the  outspread 
opportunity  !  The  bread  and  water  of  mercy  and  of 
duty,  the  soul's  common  privilege,  is  disdained,  and 
only  the  rare  viands  and  exotic  fruits  of  moral  ser- 
vice are  to  be  tasted.  What  strange,  and  what 
foolish,  and  what  unworthy  creatures  we  are!  we 
want  what  we  have  not,  and  ought  not  to  have !  we 
contemn  what  we  have,  and  what  alone  we  need ! 
we  excuse  neglect  of  duty,  because  circumstances  do 
not  favor!  and  when  circumstances  most  favor,  we 
are  most  remiss  in  duty !  The  record  against  us  is 
a  sad  one ;  and  nothing  short  of  daily  and  hourly 
discharge  of  incumbent  obligations  can  set  any  com- 
pensatory checks  against  the  list  of  our  transgres- 
sions. Nothing  but  a  fresh  heart  of  faith,  an  out- 
gushing  of  grateful,  free  service,  a  glad  availing  of 
Divine  opportunities,  can  give  us  any  favor  with 
Him  who  holds  that  record  in  his  hand. 

Lastly,  it  is  not  single  deeds  (which,  like  reser- 
voirs, contain  moral  stagnation),  but  it  is  the  flow- 
ing current  of  daily  life  that  finds  an  outlet  in  char- 
acter, and  character  alone  has  its  issue  in  eternity. 

It  has  been  found  that  no  treasury  is  so  effectually 
replenished  as  that  which  gathers  in  universal  penny 
contributions ;  so  no  man  can  so  surely  lay  up  treas- 
ure in  heaven,  as  he  who  sets  aside  for  the  holy 
coffer  the  Peter-pence  of  thought,  and  speech,  and 
deed.  .O  despise  not  these  trivial  acts  of  the  soul, 
because  they  arc  of  the  soul  I  —  trivial  only  in  seem- 
ing, —  of  infinite  moment  in  reality.  Each  one  of 
them  has  an  endless  issue,  a  relation  to  Heaven  or  to 
Hell. 


SEEMON    IX. 


THE    PRAYER    OF    FAITH. 


AND  THE  PRATER  OF  FAITH  SHALL  SAVE  THE  SICK,  AND  THE  LORD 
SHALL  RAISE  HIM  UP  ;  AND  IF  HE  HAVE  COMMITTED  SINS,  THEY 
SHALL  BE  FORGIVEN  HIM.  —  James  V.  15. 


The  Sacred  Writings  make  use  of  other  terms, 
equivalent  in  spirit  to  this.  There  is  "  the  effectual, 
fervent  prayer  "  :  "  I  will,  therefore,  that  men  pray 
without  doubting^'  (1  Timothy  ii.  8).  "Whatsoever 
ye  ask  in  prayer,  believing',  ye  shall  receive"  (Mat- 
thew xxi.  22).  "Ye  ask  and  receive  not,  because 
ye  ask  amiss  "  (James  iv.  3). 

Let  us  aim  to  ascertain  the  force  and  scope  of  the 
expression,  "  The  prayer  of  faith," 

There  is  nothing  mysterious,  either  in  the  term 
prayer  or  the  term  faith.'  Both  are  words  indicat- 
ing common  and  familiar  experiences  of  the  mind. 
Though  there  may  be  faith  without  prayer,  there 
cannot  be  prayer  without  faith.  Evidently,  the 
mind  might  entertain  a  deep  conviction  upon  a  sub- 
ject, yet  the  desires  might  not  look  in  that  direction, 
and  when  there  is  no  desire,  there  can  be  no  prayer. 
While,  on  the  other  hand,  if  I  do  not  believe  in  the 


THE    PRAYER    OF    FAITH.  167 

possibility  of  a  certain  attainment,  any  supplication 
which  I  should  make  toward  that  attainment  would 
be  only  a  nominal  p7-ai/er, —  or  no  prayer  at  all. 
And,  in  general,  just  in  proportion  to  my  doubts 
respecting  the  accomplishment  of  a  coveted  object 
will  be  the  debility  and  worthlessness  of  a  prayer 
directed  toward  that  object.  Or,  perhaps,  it  would 
be  better  to  say,  Justin  proportion  to  absence  of  con- 
viction (which  may  more  accurately  describe  that 
negatively  doubting  state  of  the  mind),  will  any 
petition  or  request  be  destitute  of  the  quality  of 
prayer,  —  be  merely  a  verbal  proposition. 

It  may,  perhaps,  seem  that  supplication  mai/  be 
made  where  there  is  little  or  no  hope  of  a  favorable 
result.  A  man  says,  "  I  will  go  and  ask  him, 
though  I  have  no  expectation  of  accomplishing  any- 
thing." If  the  man  be  destitute  of  all  hope  of  a  suc- 
cessful issue  to  his  request,  he  will  not  make  it,  un- 
less it  be  for  some  other  end  than  the  direct  one 
involved  in  the  petition,  —  the  gratification  of  a 
friend,  or  his  own  sense  of  duty,  for  example ;  and 
when  the  request  is  so  made,  it  is  only  a  nominal,  a 
verbal  prayer.  And  if  the  request  should  be  granted, 
it  would  not  be  an  answer  to  the  petitioner's  suppli- 
cation, for  no  supplication  has  been  made;  but  a 
result^  correspondent  with  the  mere  signification  of 
the  terms  of  the  request. 

It  will  be  seen  that  I  do  not  confine  the  function 
of  prayer  within  religious  limits,  that  I  do  not  so 
demonstrate  the  exercise  of  mind  which  it  denotes, 
simply  because  it  is  directed  to  the  Supreme  Being. 
Prayer  is  a  general  term  for  a  certain  inward  pro- 


168  THE    PRAYER    OF    FAITH. 

cess,  experience,  and,  let  it  be  distinctly  appre- 
hended, that  which  is  generally  called  prayer  is  only 
a  form  under  which  this  immortal  state  exhibits 
itself,  or  a  medium  through  which  it  makes  itself 
known.  The  language,  the  words  in  which  prayer 
renders  itself,  are  no  more  the  prayer  itself  than  the 
melody  we  hear  is  the  breath  or  the  string  that  oc- 
casions it,  or  than  the  electric  wire  is  the  galvanic 
current  which  it  transmits.  We  are  so  educated, 
that  all  thought  presents  itself  to  our  consciousness 
in  the  envelope  of  words.  Whenever  the  mind  ru- 
minates, all  its  processes  are  probably  carried  on  by 
the  agency  of  the  symbols  with  which  from  infancy 
it  has  been  familiar.  Thus,  a  deaf  mute,  who  has 
been  taught  only  signs,  must  make  his  prayer,  and 
himself  apprehend  his  prayer,  in  signs ;  and  one 
whose  inward  processes  have  always  been  associ- 
ated with  the  finger  alphabet  must  communicate 
thought,  and  must  think,  through  these  digital  trans- 
formations. Let  us,  then,  be  careful  not  to  confound 
prayer,  a  mental  condition,  with  an  artificial  adjunct 
or  instrument,  whether  word,  natural  sign,  or  manip- 
ulating process. 

Let  prayer,  then,  be  defined  as  a  mental  or  moral 
desire,  —  as  an  inward  state  of  craving,  —  a  con- 
scious want,  united  with  a  looking  for  relief.  It  is 
thus  that  every  man  prays.  I  can  hardly  conceive 
of  one  who  does  not  so  pray,  —  though  some  pray 
continually  and  fervently,  and  others  intermittingly, 
and  coldly,  —  but  still  the  world  is  full  of  prayer. 
Man,  dependent,  needy,  a  creature  of  emulation,  of 
ambition,  of  hope,  mvst  pray  ;  and  the  high  achieve- 


THE  PRAYER  OF  FAITH.  169 

ments  of  life,  its  successes,  its  gratifications,  are  the 
fruits  of  this  all-pervading  spirit  of  prayer.  The  pur- 
suits of  men, — the  breathless  haste  and  absorbing 
eagerness  of  toil,  the  diversity  of  plans,  the  self- 
sacrifices  in  behalf  of  aim  and  purpose,  the  medi- 
ation and  the  motion  of  human  thought  and  human 
energy  are  but  the  world's  prayers.  But  there  is 
another  name  for  these  prayers,  —  effort. 

Effort  is  the  very  maturity  of  prayer;  it  is  "the 
prayer  of  faithP  Hence  the  world's  prayers  are 
effectual.  Effort  is  purpose  in  action,  but  at  the 
bottom  of  this  is  conviction,  — faith  ;  there  would  be 
no  action,  no  effort,  without  a  confidence  in  the  ob- 
ject toward  which  it  was  to  be  exerted,  and  a  trust 
in  the  means  to  be  employed  in  the  attainment  of 
that  object.  If  you  could  impair  this  fundamental 
faith,  or  conviction,  you  would,  in  just  that  propor- 
tion, diminish  the  world's  efforts  ;  in  other  words,  its 
prayers.  If  it  had  only  liopcs  toward  a  successful 
issue,  its  action  would  be  sluggish  and  vascillating ; 
but  now  it  knows,  not  thinks,  it  probable ;  it  is  as- 
sured, not  hopes,  that  such  or  such  ends  are  attain- 
able by  such  and  such  an  instrumentality,  that  is,  it 
has  faith ;  and  possessing  beforehand  the  want,  the 
yearning,  the  ground,  the  "  effectual "  prayers  spring 
forth  of  necessity,  and  life  presents  us  the  sublime 
picture  of  cheerful,  confident,  triumphant  action. 

Individual  history  is  a  complete  illustration  of 
these  truths. 

I  have  said  that  every  man  is  more  or  less  a  pray- 
ing man,  and  just  in  proportion  as  his  prayers  are 
fervent  will  be  the  success  of  his  purposes ;  which  is 

15 


170  THE    PRAYER    OF    FAITH. 

but  asserting,  that,  just  in  proportion  as  his  sense  of 
want  is  keen,  his  desire  of  relief  is  intense,  his  effort 
is  patient,  will  his  victory  be  complete.  This  con- 
sciousness of  deficiency,  this  consequent  yearning, 
this  corresponding  action,  taken  together,  make  up 
his  prayer.     He  prays,  and  is  answered. 

And  here  let  me  throw  in  a  few  general  observa- 
tions respecting  certain  unalterable  conditions  attend- 
ant upon  prayer. 

Praying  must  be  done  ivisely.  However  earnestly 
one  may  pray,  he  may  fail  of  his  end  if  he  pray /oo/- 
ishly.  A  certain  degree  of  intelligence  must  preside 
over  success  in  this  respect,  as  in  all  others.  The 
appointed  luay  must  be  followed  or  the  goal  will 
never  be  reached. 

A  man  desires  to  be  rich,  but  he  must  pray  for  it, 
or  he  will  remain  poor.  And  he  must  pray  ivisely, 
—  pray  within  the  appointed  conditions.  If  he  sit 
down  and  bury  his  face  in  his  hands  and  deplore 
his  poverty,  and  resolve  to  sit  there  in  despond- 
ency and  tears  until  he  is  a  rich  man,  he  will  die 
a  pauper,  on  the  very  spot  of  his  faithful  idle- 
ness. Or  if  he  go  out  upon  the  mountain,  and 
mark  out  for  himself  a  circle  upon  the  earth,  and 
begin  his  walk  therein  with  a  heavy  burden  upon 
his  back,  and  determine  so  to  walk  and  so  to  bear 
that  burden  until  the  purse  of  gold  is  dropped 
upon  his  track,  it  is  evident  that  he  must  perish 
with  his  desire  ungratified,  in  the  path  which  he  has 
worn  with  so  much  toil  and  self-denial  and  faith. 
His  labor  was  a  prayer,  a  devoted  prayer,  but  a 
prayer  of  folly,  and  it  was  consequently  unanswered. 


THE    PRAYER    OF    FAITH. 


171 


But  suppose  this  aspirant  after  riches  pray  wisely. 
He  begins  with  personal  economy.  He  seeks  out 
the  most  profitable  fields  for  effort.  He  studies 
others'  mistakes  and  others'  successes.  He  treads 
cautiously.  He  wins  friends.  He  secures  allies. 
He  is  unweariedly  active,  cheerfully  patient.  He 
gets  and  keeps,  and  in  time  becomes  a  man  of  for- 
tune. His  success  is  the  fruit  of  prayer,  —  a  deep, 
earnest  prayer  of  faith.  In  other  words,  of  wise 
effort,  based  upon  conviction. 

The  idea  of  prayer,  as  generally  interpreted,  in- 
cludes a  recognition  of  some  external  agent  or 
power,  to  whom  or  which  the  supplication  is  made, 
and  through  whose  instrumentality  the  petition  is 
answered.  It  may  be  asked,  "  How  is  this  idea  ten- 
able with  the  definition  which  I  have  given  to  prayer, 
—  to  whom,  for  example,  does  the  man  greedy  of 
acquisition  pray  ?  " 

If  you  please,  I  will  say  he  prays  to  Mammon, — 
to  an  idol  whom  his  own  cupidity  has  enthroned ; 
but  really  his  prayers  are  directed  to  an  agent  whose 
competency  to  answer  them  he  knows  well,  and  in 
whose  aid  and  fidelity,  thus  invoked,  he  has  implicit 
faith.  This  agent,  soulless,  but  undeceptive,  with- 
out will,  yet  of  unerring  truth,  is  the  established  law 
of  things.  In  point  of  fact,  it  is  the  course  of  Prov- 
idence, the  terrestrial  ordination  of  God  ;  but  not  so 
recognized  by  him  who  prays,  who  only  views  it  as 
the  order  and  law  of  nature.  But  to  this  his  prayers 
are  directed.  It  is  a  law  that  industry  shall  experi- 
ence recompense, —  it  is  a  law  that  patience  shall 
achieve  success,  —  it  is  a  law  that  sagacity   shall 


172  THE    PRAYER    OF    FAITH. 

outwit  ignorance,  — it  is  a  law  that  prudence,  econ- 
omy, shall  multiply  gains ;  and  he  who  would  be 
rich,  prays  to  these  laws,  —  to  an  abstract  deity, 
of  which  these  laws  are  attributes ;  and  that  deity 
answers  his  prayers.  The  god  of  this  world  has  his 
prerogatives  and  his  patronage,  as  surely  as  the  God 
of  heaven  has  his  attributes,  and  his  will  and  ability 
to  bless. 

Yes,  the  man  avaricious  of  worldly  acquisitions, 
planning  for  them,  toiling  for  them,  sick  at  heart 
for  them,  living,  dying  for  them,  is  through  his  life  a 
man  of  deep,  devoted,  successful  prayer. 

If,  then,  to  him  the  voice  of  the  pulpit  should  ap- 
peal, the  word  of  the  living  God  should  come,  and 
say,  "  Pray  thou  to  Jehovah,  have  thou  faith  in 
the  Eternal  Spirit,  and  in  the  unseen  world,"  and  he 
should  answer,  "  I  know  not  what  you  mean,  — 
prayer,  faith,  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  I  would  reply, 
"  Have  the  trust  in  the  will  of  Heaven  that  you  have 
in  the  law  of  earth.  Believe  in  God  as  you  believe 
in  Mammon.  Pray  toward  virtue  as  you  have 
prayed  toward  gain  ;  love  righteousness  as  you  have 
loved  lucre.  Your  whole  life  has  been  a  prayer,  but 
a  prayer  to  the  Evil  One,  —  to  the  great /a/se  spirit, 
—  and  your  prayer  has  been  answered^  as  all  ear- 
nest, judicious  prayer  shall  be  answered,  but  not 
to  your  benefit.  You  have  now  a  dry,  husky 
heart;  you  have  a  close,  narrow  soul ;  your  native 
manliness  is  dwarfed  ;  you  are  down  below  noble 
thoughts  and  noble  deeds ;  you  have  swelled  your 
purse,  but  shrivelled  your  affections.  You  have 
walked  by  the  torch-blaze  of  low  passion,  and  have 


THE    PRAYER    OF    FAITH.  173 

forsaken  the  guidance  of  the  lights  of  Heaven.  You 
preferred  the  mine  of  Pluto  to  the  paradise  of  God ; 
but  your  prayers  are  answered,  your  faith  is 
triumphant.  You  do  know  what  prayer  is  and 
\v\\2it  faith  is,  but  you  do  not  know  what  prayer  to 
the  God  of  Holiness  is,  what  faith  in  his  kingdom 
of  love  is.  To  every  plodding,  anxious  worldling 
the  answer  would  be  the  same. 

It  must  be  obvious,  then,  that  religious  faith  is  as 
simple,  as  easy  of  comprehension,  as  practicable  an 
experience  as  a  mercenary  faith,  —  the  love  of  lucre 
stimulating  one,  the  love  of  God  the  other ;  and 
that  religious  prayer  is  but  the  yearning,  the  energy 
of  the  faculties  toward  spiritual  objects,  as  worldly 
prayer  is  their  direction  toward  temporal  objects. 

I  may  now  ask.  Is  it  not  manifest  that  much  that 
passes  for  prayer  in  the  religious  world  has  no  right 
to  be  so  called.  What,  for  example,  are  so  many 
of  the  superstitious  mum.meries  of  Christendom,  not 
entitled  even  to  the  name  of  prayers  ?  Suppose 
prayers  were  visible,  suppose  their  spiritual  quality 
to  be  represented  by  their  buoyancy,  —  that  just  in 
proportion  to  their  possession  of  this  quality  they 
would  rise  above  the  ceiling  of  the  private  closet,  or 
the  arches  of  the  vaulted  cathedral,  in  their  way  to 
the  skies,  how  "many  of  these  nominal  globes  of 
soul  would  float  upward  to  the  courts  of  grace? 
how  many  would  surmount  the  cross-current  of  an 
earthly  atmosphere?  how  many,  indeed,  would 
overtop  the  level  of  the  petitioner's  heart?  Nay, 
how  many,  how  very  many,  would  fall,  like  leaden  . 

15* 


174  THE    PRAYER    OF    FAITH. 

balls,  upon  the  earth,  as  if  they  were  prayers  to  the 
god  beloio  instead  of  the  God  above. 

Why  are  not  the  prayers  of  Christians  more  suc- 
cessful ?  Why  are  not  praying  Christians  better 
men  ?  Why  do  they  not  grow  better,  as  they  pray  ? 
For  this  reason.  They  fall  upon  their  knees,  they 
utter  words,  they  go  through  a  form,  but  they  do 
not  pray;  their  worship  is  hardly  upon  the  outer 
sill  of  true  devotion.  If  men  desiring  eminence 
were  to  pray  so,  they  would  pine  in  obscurity.  If 
men  seeking  wealth  were  to  pray  so,  they  would 
perish  in  an  almshouse.  Posture  is  not  prayer; 
words  are  not  wishes;  forms  are  not  faith.  If 
the  nominally  religious  world  might  this  day  pray 
before  the  God  of  purity  and  of  Christian  influences, 
as  the  secular  world  will  this  week  to  the  god  of 
gain,  the  result  of  that  supplication  would  be  almost 
instantly  felt  ;  would  be  almost  instantly  visible. 
There  would  be  an  increased  illumination  over  the 
soul-world,  as  there  is  in  the  gas-lighted  temple, 
when  a  fresh  current  is  let  in  upon  the  dim  blaze. 
Religious  action  would  take  on  an  energy  that 
would  startle  sin  in  his  dreams.  The  vigor  and 
dignity  of  moral  purpose  would  abash  the  wicked 
in  their  plots  and  pursuits  of  evil ;  and  if  the  world 
(as  some  sad-hearted  observers  have  supposed)  were 
retrogading  in  righteousness,  were  rushing  onward 
in  an  evil  orbit,  such  a  prayer  would  bring  it,  in  all 
its  momentum  of  vice,  to  a  stop,  as  if  Jehovah's 
hand  had  stayed  it. 

We  have  all  seen  cases  in  which  young  persons, 
who  have  had  tasks  set  them,  have  returned  to  their 


THE    PRAYER    OF    FAITH.  175 

teachers  or  parents,  declaring  their  inability  to  do 
what  was  required  of  them.  They  have  returned, 
faithless  as  to  themselves,  as  to  the  objects  set  before 
them,  as  to  the  means  pointed  out  for  the  attainment 
of  those  objects.  But  we  have  heard  the  parent  or 
teacher  bid  such  children  "  ^ry,"  and  we  have  seen 
the  children  with  an  enkindled  determination  go 
back  to  their  effort,  and  easily  accomplish  their  task. 

It  is  against  precisely  such  a  distrust  with  respect 
to  jrraijer  that  I  would  guard  you.  You  doubt,  be- 
cause you  have  not  "  triecV^  If  you  weigh  prayer 
in  the  balance  oiform,  or  of  habit,  or  of  indifference, 
you  may  expect  to  find  it  wanting ;  but  it  never  was 
found  light  when  placed  in  the  scales  of  real  faith 
and  real  religious  desire.  Discriminate,  then,  be- 
tween sai/ing,  "  O  God  I  we  would  be  blessed," 
and  that  yearning  of  the  soul  that  cries  for  the  bless- 
ing,—  that  purpose  of  the  spirit  that  labors  to  be 
blessed.  One  ejaculation  of  the  heart  avails  more 
than  verbal  petitions,  protracted  through  eternity. 
A  single  jet  from  the  spiritual  depths  is  worth  more 
than  an  ocean  of  frothy  sentimentalism. 

My  hearers,  as  I  have  shown,  you  know  what 
faith  is,  what  prayer  is.  Let  it  now  be  the  endeavor 
of  your  lives  to  know  the  true  objects  oi  faith  and  of 
prayer.  Some  will  say  to  you,  and  perhaps  your 
secret  desires  will  repeat  the  counsel,  "  Pray  to  the 
world's  idols,  and  have  faith  in  the  world's  rewards  "  ; 
but  I  say  to  you,  and  the  Gospel  and  your  destiny 
repeat  the  counsel,  Pray  to  God,  and  have  faith  in 
Jesus,  and  in  righteousness,  and  in  immortality. 


SEHMON  X.   . 

BEAKING  WITNESS  TO  THE  TRUTH. 

TO  THIS  END  WAS  I  BORN,  AND  FOR  THIS  CAUSE  CAME  I  INTO 
THE  WORLD,  THAT  I  SHOULD  BEAR  WITNESS  UNTO  THE  TRUTH. 

—  John  xviii.  37. 

The  great  force  of  this  declaration  falls  upon  the 
phrase  "  bear  witness,"  as  the  chief  power  of  Christ's 
mission  itself  lay  in  the  "  testimony  "  to  the  truth. 

Let  us  sufficiently  distinguish  between  holding 
the  truth  and  testifying'  to  the  truth. 

A  man  may,  for  example,  knoiv  the  facts  in  a  case 
which  is  tried  before  a  jury,  but,  for  reasons,  he  may 
maintain  silence  concerning  those  facts.  He  may 
not  disclose  to  any  one  that  he  possesses  a  knowl- 
edge of  them  ;  consequently,  he  is  not  summoned  as 
a  witness.  The  trial  proceeds.  Suppose  a  verdict 
to  be  rendered  in  conformity  with  the  facts  of  which 
he  is  cognizant,  the  issue  is  right ;  but  his  knowledge 
had  nothing  to  do  with  that  issue.  The  result  may, 
indeed,  have  been  founded  upon  incorrect  premises, 
so  that  it  is  in  reality  false  as  connected  with  those 
premises,  though  true  when  viewed  in  relation  to  the 
real  facts  of  the  case.  Here,  then,  the  man  who 
alone  knew  of  those  exact  facts  permitted  the  tri- 


BEARING  WITNESS  TO  THE  TRUTH.      177 

umph  of  a  lie  in  relation  to  the  premises  (the  as- 
sumed  facts  in  the  case),  which  were  all  that  the 
jurors  or  the  community  could  observe. 

But  suppose  the  verdict  had  been  inconsistent 
with  the  facts,  as  known  by  the  individual  of  whom 
we  speak,  how  palpable  now  is  the  distinction  be- 
tween his  knowledge  of  the  truth,  and  this  verdict 
contrary  to  the  truth  !  And  this  is  but  saying,  how 
signal  is  the  distinction  between  a  possession  of  the 
truth  and  a  testimony  to  it ;  for  testimony  in  this 
case  would  have  averted  that  false  verdict,  —  false, 
because  such  testimony  was  not  rendered.  The 
withholding  of  testimony  here  negatively  originated 
the  falsehood  ;  nay,  perhaps  positively  established  it, 
—  for  one  who,  by  deliberate  self- withdrawal,  gives 
a  foreseen  scope  to  a  lie,  is,  in  so  far  as  that  act  is 
concerned,  hardly  less  criminal  than  if,  by  false  tes- 
timony, he  had  established  the  lie. 

To  make  the  application  more  general.  Does  the 
mere  possession  of  any  fact,  or  any  tnith,  whether  of 
science,  or  of  circumstances,  or  of  theology,  consti- 
tute the  possessor  a  truthful  man  ?  In  no  respect. 
Two  persons  may  be  placed  in  contact  with  what 
we  see  to  be  error ;  one  may  receive  it,  the  other  may 
reject  it.  Is  he  who  receives  it  the  less  veracious  of 
the  two  ?  No !  his  very  veracity,  his  sincerity,  his 
integrity,  may  have  caused  him  to  embrace  the  error, 
while  the  disingenuousness  of  the  other  may  have 
inclined  him  to  reject  it.  For  the  former  seizes  the 
error  honestly  as  the  truth,  and  is  the  truth-lover ; 
while  the  latter,  perversely  influenced,  declines  the 
error,  not  knowing  that  it  is  error,  and  is  the  truth- 
hater. 


178  BEARING    WITNESS    TO    THE    TRUTH. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  the  mere  possession  of  truth 
that  entitles  a  person  to  the  name  of  a  defender,  or 
a  friend  of  the  truth.  He  may  be  its  foe.  We  often 
obtain  truth  through  accident,  through  constitutional 
aptitude,  through  natural  sagacity.  It  sinks  into  our 
conviction  without  effort,  and  without  merit  of  our 
own.     We  cannot  help  entertaining  it. 

Now,  in  what  consists  any  dignity,  or  any  worth 
of  one's  mind  or  heart,  in  its  connection  with  truth  ? 
It  consists  in  this.  In  the  relation  which  such 
mind  or  heart  maintains  toward  the  truth,  and  so  far 
as  the  moral  life,  the  spiritual  energy  of  society,  is 
concerned,  it  is  this  relation  rather  than  the  truth 
itself  that  is  the  vitalizing  power  of  that  society. 

Cast  into  the  mass  of  human  knowledge  the  ivhole 
truth  concerning  the  stellar  universe.  Here  is  one  of 
the  sublimest  communications  that  the  mind  can 
embrace.  But  of  what  service  is  this  bequest  to  the 
world,  unless  minds  quake  beneath  the  awful  bur- 
den, or  hearts  are  awed  and  silenced  by  its  vastness  ? 
Would  it  not  be  better  that  the  great  body  of  the 
truth  should  have  been  withheld,  provided  that  the 
world  had  been  enabled  the  more  effectually  to  seize 
and  feel  the  residue  of  the  truth  ? 

What  is  Christianity  in  the  world  independently 
of  hearts,  consciences,  and  wills  ?  It  is,  as  it  were, 
nothings  —  no  more  than  light  is  without  eyes.  Sal- 
vation is  not  Christian  truth,  but  it  is  the  relation 
of  the  individual  soul  to  that  truth  ;  and  if  you  would 
seek  the  source  of  life  to  a  church,  you  must  look  for 
some  exalted  relation  maintained  by  individuals  of 
that  church  to  its  life-giving   doctrine.      Doctrines 


BEARING    WITNESS    TO    THE    TRUTH.  179 

might  be  proclaimed  for  a  centmy,  and  they  might 
embosom  truths  which  should  be  scattered  in  a  mil- 
lion minds  and  hearts,  yet  those  truths  might  be  as 
unprolific  as  the  seeds  which  for' thousands  of  years 
have  lain  in  the  dust  of  an  Egyptian  catacomb. 
But  let  the  relation  which  one  soul  may  sustain  to- 
ward those  doctrines  declare  and  illustrate  them,  — 
it  is  like  uncovering  the  seeds  at  the  mummy's  feet 
to  the  air,  and  the  light,  and  the  dews.  Or  such 
relation  is  like  the  spark  which  touches  fireworks 
that  were  hidden  in  the  darkness,  and  which  lights 
up  their  dull  outline  into  beauty.  Such  an  example 
has  been  sometimes  found  in  the  martyr  who  per- 
ishes for  faith.  The  martyrdom  shows  not  the  truth, 
the  absolute  truth,  but  it  shows  the  relation  of  a  soul 
to  what  it  believes  the  truth.  It  shows  human  truth, 
truth  of  character,  truth  of  life,  truth  of  being. 

It  is  easy  to  see  why  it  is,  that  what  an  after  age 
may  deem  error  for  so  many  generations  has  held 
almost  absolute  sway  over  nations.  We  discover 
this  reason  in  the  sublime  exhibitions  which  were 
made  of  personal  relations  to  supposed  truth,  —  rela- 
tions stronger  than  those  to  property,  country,  or  life. 
How  is  the  religious  history  of  Scotland,  for  exam- 
ple, illustrated  by  facts  of  this  character ;  and  what 
a  faith  they  must  enkindle  in  the  popular  heart. 
One  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  (in  the  language  of 
Macaulay),  Margaret  Maclachlan  and  Margaret  Wil- 
son, the  former  an  aged  widow,  the  latter  a  maiden 
of  eighteen,  suffered  death  for  their  religion.  They 
were  offered  their  lives  if  they  would  consent  to  ab- 
jure the  cause  of  the  insurgent  Covenanters,  and  to 


180  BEARING    WITNESS    TO    THE    TRUTH. 

attend  the  Episcopal  worship.  They  refused,  and 
they  were  sentenced  to  be  drowned.  They  were 
carried  to  a  spot  which  the  Solway  overflows  twice 
a  day,  and  fastened  to  stakes  fixed  in  the  sand,  be- 
tween high  and  low  water  mark.  The  elder  sufferer 
was  placed  near  to  the  advancing  flood,  in  the  hope 
that  her  last  agonies  might  terrify  the  younger  into 
submission.  The  sight  was  dreadful ;  but  the  cour- 
age of  the  survivor  was  sustained  ;  she  saw  the  sea 
draw  nearer  and  nearer,  but  gave  no  sign  of  alarm. 
She  prayed  and  sang  psalms  till  the  waves  choked 
her  voice.  When  she  had  tasted  the  bitterness  of 
death,  she  was,  by  a  cruel  mercy,  unbound  and  re- 
stored to  life.  When  she  came  to  herself,  pitying 
friends  and  neighbors  implored  her  to  yield.  "  Dear 
Margaret,  only  say,  '  God  save  the  king,' "  The 
poor  girl,  true  to  her  stern  theology,  gasped  out, 
"  May  God  save  him,  if  it  be  GocVs  will."  Her  friends 
crowded  round  the  presiding  officer  :  "  She  has  said 
it ;  indeed.  Sir,  she  has  said  it ! "  "  Will  she  take 
the  abjuration  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Never  !  "  she 
exclaimed ;  "  /  ajn  Chrisfs ;  let  me  go."  And  the 
waters  closed  over  her  for  the  last  time.  In  like 
manner  was  the  truth,  as  it  is  in  Jesus,  sustained 
through  the  early  centuries  of  Christianity.  Believ- 
ers sealed  it  as  a  reality  by  their  unconquerable 
faith,  —  by  their  unshunned  deaths.  The  inference 
was,  such  a  relation  to  known  falsehood  no  soul  can 
sustain ;  under  hypocrisy,  no  such  expression  is  pos- 
sible. 

When  old  Polycarp  (a  pupil  of  the  Apostle  John) 
was    apprehended,   and   was    conducted    into    the 


BEARING  WITNESS  TO  THE  TRUTH.      181 

crowded  stadium,  the  Proconsul  in  compassion  en- 
treated him  to  conceal  his  name,  on  account  of  the 
vindictive  feeling  of  the  heathen  mob  toward  him. 
But  such  silence  would  not  have  expressed  the 
saint's  relation  to  the  truth.  He  then  proclaimed 
aloud  that  he  was  Polycarp.  The  trial  proceeded. 
"  Sivear,^^  shouted  the  multitude,  "  bi/  the  Genius  of 
CcBsar ;  retract  and  say,  Away  with  the  godless ! " 
The  old  man  gazed  in  sorrow  at  the  benches  of  fran- 
tic and  raging  spectators,  rising  above  each  other, 
and,  with  his  eyes  uplifted  to  heaven,  said,  "  Away 
iciLh  the  godless  I  "  The  Proconsul  urged  him  fur- 
ther. '•'■  Swear,  ajid  I  release  thee  ;  blaspheme  Christ.''^ 
"  Eighty  and  six  years  have  I  served  Christ,  and  he 
has  never  done  me  an  injury  ;  now  can  I  blaspheme 
my  king  and  my  Saviour  ?  "  And  Avhen  bound  to 
the  stake,  he  prayed,  "  O  Lord  God  Almighty  I  I 
thank  thee  that  thou  hast  graciously  thought  me 
worthy  of  this  day  and  this  hour,  that  I  may  receive 
a  portion  in  the  number  of  thy  martyrs,  and  drink  of 
Christ's  cup,  for  the  resurrection  to  eternal  life ! " 

But  pass  back  to  the  martyrdom  of  the  Saviour 
himself.  It  is  his  relation  to  his  own  truths,  which 
more,  even  than  those  truths  themselves,  are  trans- 
forming the  world ;  because  that  relation  was  the 
greatest,  the  most  appreciable  and  the  most  touching 
of  all  the  truths.  Hence,  the  world  agrees  that 
Christ's  life  (involving  of  course  his  death)  is  more 
vital  than  his  doctrines,  —  that  more  of  transforming 
truth  flashes  from  his  tnitli  of  souly  than  from  the  ab- 
stract revelations  that  fell  from  his  lips. 

And  here  let  me  say  what  I  have  before  alluded 

16 


182  BEARING    WITNESS    TO    THE    TRUTH. 

to ;  that  it  is  not  necessary  that  what  is  held  for 
truth  should  be  the  absolute  truth.  In  Christ  it  urns 
the  transcript  of  eternal  and  perfect  verity  ;  but  in 
mortals,  the  only  perfect  truth  lies  in  the  conviction 
of  the  possessor  that  what  he  holds  is  truth.  In  this 
direction  lies  what,  in  humanity,  may  be  said  to 
border  on  the  divine,  —  what  illustrates  the  spiritual, 
—  what  prophesies  of  immortality.  For,  search 
where  and  as  you  will,  fealty  of  the  conscience,  con- 
secration of  the  being  to  conviction,  the  soul's 
homage  to  its  perception  of  the  truth,  is  the  sub- 
limest  moral  spectacle  in  the  world.  It  makes  all 
other  shows  seem  trivial,  and  it  makes  all  other  sub- 
stantialities seem  mutable  and  fleeting. 

You  err,  if  you  think  that  I  have  been  declaiming 
upon  abstractions,  —  that,  in  general,  all  is  as  I  have 
said,  but  that  it  cannot  converge  into  a  practical  ap- 
plication to  yourselves.  It  can,  and  in  various  ways. 
But  I  shall  allude  to  one  or  two  points  only.  Most 
or  all  of  you  believe,  that  you  hold  Christian  doc- 
trines under  forms  nearest  to  the  truth  ;  or,  to  speak 
more  definitely,  that  you  hold  the  truths  of  Christian 
doctrine. 

Well,  this  is  your  possession.  What  is  it  worth 
to  you  ?  what  is  it  worth  to  the  world  ?  The  an- 
swer is  found  here.  That  worth  lies  in  the  relation 
which  you  maintain  toward  those  truths, — in  your 
expression  and  witness  of  those  truths.  Do  not  shut 
out  from  your  conviction  this  fact,  that  a  true  rela- 
tion of  the  soul  to  error  will  work  a  nobler  purifica- 
tion for  the  world,  and  for  the  individual  heart,  than 
a  false  relation  of  the  soul  to  truth.     For  in   the 


BEARING    WITNESS    TO    THE    TRUTJl.  183 

relation  lies  the  chief  vitality.  Give  a  denomination 
the  whole  circle  of  the  truths  ;  yet  let  it  be  supine  or 
unfaithful,  and-its  falsity  of  relation  will  kill  it,  and 
perhaps  its  doctrines  ;  while  a  denomination,  min- 
gling with  its  creeds  many  errors,  yet  in  its  relation 
to  those  errors  showing  devotedness,  self-sacrifice, 
faith  will  spread  and  establish  itself.  From  the 
heatheu  world,  God  will  take  for  his  saints  such  as 
maintain  a  true  relation  to  convictions  dark  with 
error ;  while,  out  of  the  Christian  world,  he  will  not 
take  for  a  saint  one  who  maintains  false  relations  to 
knowledge  illuminated  from  on  high. 

You  may  now  determine  what  your  doctrinal 
truth  is  worth  to  you  or  to  the  world.  Does  your 
relation  to  it,  does  your  expression  of  it,  sanctify  it, 
or  give  it  life,  —  enlist  for  it  reverence,  clothe  it  in 
power,  or  help  its  weary  and  obstructed  footsteps  ? 
If  any  bring  you  to  the  rack  of  severe  questioning, 
or  of  urgent  entreaty,  or  of  compassionate  warning, 
do  you  shrink  and  compromise,  —  do  you  disclaim 
and  profess  ignorance,  —  do  you  avow  uncertainty, 
—  lay  all  forms  of  doctrine  on  the  same  precarious 
platform, — profess  unbounded  toleration,  and  hesi- 
tatingly ask  the  liberty  you  grant  ?  If  you  do,  what 
an  infinite  distance  there  is  between  God's  majestic 
truth  which  he  has  lodged  in  your  bosoms  and  your 
relation  to  that  truth  !  And  in  the  breast  of  another, 
how  quickly  would  that  truth  fade  away  before  the 
timid  and  deprecatory  expression  of  it  from  your  lips 
and  from  your  position.  You  absolutely  throw  over 
it  the  drapery  of  falsehood  and  worthlessness,  and 
challenge  a  sneer,  or  rivet  incredulity. 


184  BEARING    WITNESS    TO    THE    TRUTH. 

Or,  are  you  indifferent  ?  Then  you  hold  truth  as 
the  stomach  would  hold  a  diamond.  It  merely  comes 
into  contact  with  your  inward  nature ;  but  it  is  in 
nowise  assimilated.  It  rather  oppresses  than  vital- 
izes. Who  will  honor,  or  who  will  accept  from  you, 
or  through  you,  as  a  truth  that  should  be  as  a  force 
to  upheave  the  will,  or  as  the  very  principle  of  soul- 
life,  what  does  not  even  ruffle  the  surface  of  your 
being,  what  is  practically,  to  you,  a  delusion  or  a 
lie? 

Do  not  mistake  the  nature  of  this  genuine,  vital 
relation,  nor  the  fitting  expressions  of  it.  Individual 
or  joint  action  on  your  parts,  for  the  spread  of  the 
doctrines  you  hold,  may  reveal  such  genuine  relation. 
Money  expended,  sacrifices  borne  for  the  same  end, 
may  reveal  it ;  but  its  true  disclosure  waits  upon 
conviction,  upon  character,  upon  the  quality  of  your 
daily  life,  to  which  men  may  point  and  say,  "  It  is 
beautiful,  —  there  is  the  testimony  to  a  faith  that  has 
been  with  Jesus  !  " 

Will  there  not  be  some  of  you  who  will  have  to 
render  an  account  for  your  lukewarmness  toward 
what  you  acknowledge  to  be  the  truths  of  the  Gos- 
pel, —  for  your  faithlessness  in  that  stewardship  of 
doctrine,  which  God  has  committed  to  your  charge  ? 
You  seem  to  think  that  the  foundations  of  truth,  as 
it  is  to  be  built  up  in  this  world,  do  not  rest  upon 
layers  of  human  faith  and  endeavor;  that  the  Al- 
mighty can  establish  his  verities  without  your  agency, 
perhaps  without  your  cognizance.  As  well  might 
you  hope  to  kindle  a  fire  on  the  naked  granite,  with 
air  for  fuel.     If  God  drops  upon  earth  the  living  coal 


BEARING    WITNESS    TO    THE    TRUTH.  185 

of  his  truth,  it  is  for  men  to  heap  the  combustibles 
around  it ;  and  if  the  coal  die  out,  it  is  maris  guilt, 
not  God^s  neglect.  You  are  responsible  for  the 
darkness  and  the  chill  which  follow  the  extinction  of 
the  spark. 

In  what  I  have  said,  it  is  true  my  thought  has 
leaned  primarily  toward  your  vindication  of  the 
Gospel,  in  the  peculiar  form  in  which  you  hold  it. 
Yet  do  not  understand  me  as  urging  to  this  end  for 
no  other  result  than  the  spread  of  a  mere  doctrine 
and  the  enlargement  of  a  mere  sect.  I  value  the 
form  of  the  Gospel  which  we  in  common  accept,  not 
as  a  denominational  symbol,  but  as  a  heavenly  power 
in  the  life.  True,  your  Christianity  must  rest  upon 
doctrinal  beliefs ;  but  its  living  relation  is  to  your 
moral  and  spiritual  condition,  generally  to  your  in- 
ward purity,  your  social  probity,  your  truth  of  speech, 
your  peace-making  desires,  your  unselfish  and  un- 
worldly aims.  In  these  directions,  every  earthly 
interest,  and  every  heavenly  hope, — the  claims  of 
men,  and  the  law  of  God,  urge  you  to  hear  witness 
to  the  truth. 

Would  that  you  might  feel  that  there  is  com- 
mitted to  you  no  stewardship  so  solemn,  and  none 
so  glorious,  as  the  stewardship  of  the  faith  which  is 
by  Jesus  Christ. 


16* 


SEHMON    XI 


STEPHEN. 


AND   THET   CHOSE    STEPHEN,   A   MAN   FULL   OP    FAITH  AND   OF    THE 
HOLT  GHOST.  —  ActS  vi.  5. 


The  central  point  of  this  discourse  will  be  the 
history  of  Stephen,  as  it  can  be  gathered  from  the 
scanty  suggestions  of  Scripture,  carried  out  by  prob- 
able conjecture.  Around  this  centre,  facts  and  cir- 
cumstances illustrating  the  position  and  growth  of 
Christianity  will  be  naturally  grouped. 

Immediately  succeeding  the  ascension  of  Jesus 
there  was,  without  doubt,  a  feeling  of  loneliness  in 
the  hearts  of  the  disciples.  It  was  natural  that  it 
should  be  so.  That  form,  which  by  its  presence  had 
imparted  trust  and  power,  was  removed  from  sight 
and  from  appeal.  Those  lips  could  no  longer  coun- 
sel, —  those  eyes  could  no  longer  rebuke  or  reprove. 
That  attraction  that  made  companionship  and  ser- 
vice so  sweet  a  joy  was  dissolved,  and  the  invisible 
bond  of  memory  was  to  take  the  place  of  the  strong 
tie  of  the  senses. 

Yet  the  disciples  lived  in  trust  of  even  a  personal 
terrestrial  reunion  at  some  future  time.  The  words 
of  the  angels,  as  their  Lord  faded  into  the  heavens, 
supplied  them  with  constant  food   for  expectation. 


STEPHEN.  187 

The  declarations  also  of  Jesus  himself  sustained  an 
undying  interest  in  that  anticipated  event. 

Naturally  their  relation  to  Jesus  began  to  change. 
What  before  was  a  species  of  earthly  intercourse 
gradually  took  the  form  of  spiritual  communion. 
Unselfish  aspirations  by  degrees  displaced  their  tem- 
poral covetings.  Their  eyes  and  their  hearts  looked 
toward  those  heavens  into  which  the  divine  form  of 
their  Lord  had  passed,  and  through  channels  other 
than  human  and  ordinary  they  anticipated  the  fulfil- 
ment of  the  promises,  in  blessings  less  tangible  and 
gross  than  had  once  filled  their  conceptions. 

Thus  impressed,  the  circle  of  Apostles  retained  its 
outward  integrity  of  relation  to  Jesus.  The  place 
made  vacant  by  the  death  of  Judas  they  filled  by 
lot,  so  that  twelve  eye-witnesses  and  personal  attend- 
ants of  the  Lord,  were  still  set  apart,  as  during  his 
life,  to  testify  to  his  deeds  and  his  resurrection. 

A  new  consecration  fell  upon  the  disciples  ;  a 
clearer  illumination  of  the  truth,  —  a  profounder 
comprehension  of  their  tie  to  Christ,  on  the  day  of 
Pentecost.  From  that  hour,  they  felt  that  the  promise 
IV  as  fulfilled;  and  before  their  eyes  spread,  unclouded 
by  doubts,  the  field  of  their  duties.  "  Jerusalem,  Ju- 
dea,  Samaria,  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,"  were 
to  hear  the  word  of  God. 

For  a  while,  the  residence  of  the  Apostles  and  the 
disciples  was  Jerusalem.  They  met  continually,  in 
private  houses,  in  synagogues,  and  in  the  temple. 
They  encouraged  each  other  in  the  faith,  —  they 
taught  it  publicly,  and  God  confirmed  their  teach- 
ings with  "  signs  following."     The  more  prominent 


188  STEPHEN. 

and  active  of  them  were  seized,  and  catechized  and 
threatened  and  imprisoned  by  the  Jewish  rulers,  — 
but  to  no  effect.  No  sooner  were  they  released,  than 
they  repaired  to  their  own  little  brotherhood  ;  and 
there  they  recounted  the  scenes  they  had  gone 
through,  and  each  recruited  the  other's  faith,  and  they 
prayed  and  sang  together,  and  pledged  themselves 
anew  to  the  persecuted  cause. 

One  feature  in  this  early  community  deserves 
especial  mention.  I  refer  to  the  close  bond  of  union 
and  fellowship  that  existed  among  the  primitive 
Christians.  They  in  fact  constituted  one  household 
in  their  affection  and  reciprocation  of  services  and  dis- 
tribution of  goods.  Not  that  they  threw  their  prop- 
erty into  one  common  stock,  maintaining  the  equal 
right  of  each  in  the  whole,  according  to  the  modern 
theory  of  communism,  but  they  held  their  means 
in  constant  readiness  to  relieve  wherever  necessity 
existed.  They,  without  doubt,  constituted  a  more 
intimate  and  sympathetic  and  unselfish  brotherhood 
than  the  most  Christianized  communities  of  the 
present  day.  In  view  of  the  blessing  of  the  Gospel, 
all  other  possessions  were  insignificant.  ']^o  the 
transcendent  worth  of  that  these  were  joyfully  and 
eagerly  sacrificed.  The  living  Christ  was  among 
them,  as,  to  our  reproach,  he  is  not  with  us. 

As  the  number  of  disciples  multiplied,  the  difficulty 
of  a  satisfactory  distribution  of  alms  increased.  The 
recipients  of  this  bounty  were  scattered  far  beyond 
the  limits  of  Jerusalem.  They  were  composed  of 
two  classes,  those  of  Hebrew  extraction,  who  resided 
in  Palestine,  and  spoke  the  native  dialect  of  Pales- 


STEPHEN.  189 

tine,  and  those  of  Jewish  descent,  who  had  dwelt 
beyond  the  confines  of  Palestine,  and  to  whom  the 
Greek  language  was  vernacular.  For  some  reason, 
the  Grecian  disciples  conceived  that  partiality  was 
manifested  in  the  bestowment  of  the  common  chari- 
ties, and  that  the  Hebrew  widows  received  more  than 
their  share.  The  Apostles  were  perplexed.  These 
complaints  probably  became  numerous,  and  required 
time  and  attention  to  sift  and  set  right  what  was 
wrong.  To  do  this  faithfully,  diverted  the  energies 
of  the  Apostles  from  their  great  work  of  teaching  the 
Gospel.  It  became  therefore  necessary  to  appoint 
certain  individuals  whose  duty  it  should  be  to  super- 
intend this  distribution  of  alms.  Seven  men  were 
accordingly  appointed  to  this  charge,  —  men  of  hon- 
est report,  full  of  the  Holy  Spirit  and  of  wisdom 
and  among  these,  and  first  chosen,  was  Stephen. 

From  the  names  of  the  seven,  it  has  been  inferred, 
that  they  were  Grecian  Jews.  They,  probably, 
would  know  better  than  others  the  wants  of  the 
complaining  portion  of  the  disciples  ;  they  were 
more  conversant  with  their  language,  and  would 
command  a  greater  degree  of  confidence  than  if 
they  had  been  Hebrews  in  the  full  sense  of  the  term. 
What  wisdom  and  tact  did  it  evince  in  that  body, 
thus  to  select  their  almoners. 

After  this  arrangement,  the  cause  of  the  Gospel 
acquired  new  strength ;  the  number  of  disciples 
largely  increased  in  Jerusalem,  and,  what  is  a  fact 
of  special  significance,  "  a  great  company  of  the 
priests  were  obedient  unto  the  faith." 

The  new  position  of  Stephen  not  only  connected 


190  STEPHEN. 

him  with  the  dispensing  of  the  charities  of  the 
community,  but  also  with  preaching,  exhortation, 
and  argument  in  presence  of  the  gainsayers  of  the 
Gospel. 

Where  Stephen  was  converted  to  Christianity,  or 
by  whom,  we  know  not.  Yet  we  call  to  mind  the 
fact,  that  during  Jesus's  life,  while  he  was  at  the  feast 
of  the  Passover,  at  Jerusalem,  there  were  certain 
Grecian  Jews  present,  who  desired  to  see  Jesus.  It 
is  not  unlikely  that  Stephen  was  of  this  number. 
From  what  we  gather  of  him,  he  was  of  such  a  char- 
acter as  would  have  been  deeply  impressed  by  what 
he  might  hear  and  see  of  Jesus.  Educated  away 
from  the  centre  of  Jewish  influences,  lightly  bound 
by  the  traditions  that  trammelled  others  of  Israel- 
itish  descent,  and  standing  less  in  awe  of  the  priests 
than  if  he  had  been  nurtured  beneath  the  shadow  of 
their  pride,  he  would  not  hesitate  to  accept  as  truth 
what,  from  its  repugnancy  to  Rabbinical  interpreta- 
tion, would  have  been  rejected  by  the  majority  of 
Hebrew  listeners.  But  whether  or  not  he  did  receive 
his  impressions  of  the  Gospel  from  Jesus  himself, 
this  is  certain,  that  Gospel,  in  the  fulness  of  its 
spirit,  dwelt  in  his  heart. 

Stephen  was  probably  about  St.  Paul's  age  ;  and, 
n  some  respects,  he  reminds  us  of  the  great  Apostle. 
He  had  a  quick  insight  into  the  truth,  he  was  thor- 
oughly versed  in  the  ancient  Hebrew  history,  and, 
like  Paul,  gave  strength  to  his  argument  and  serious- 
ness to  his  discourse  by  ample  quotations  from  the 
Prophets.  Morally^  he  was  like  Paul,  —  bold,  ear- 
nest, and  direct;  he  feared  not  the  face  of  man.     In 


STEPHEN.  191 

his  intrepid  defence  of  the  truth,  he  seems  to  have 
caught  a  higher  spirit,  if  possible,  than  Paul's,  in 
which  the  sublimity  that  marked  Christ's  demeanor 
before  human  tribunals  in  no  slight  degree  appears. 
In  the  power  of  his  religious  imagination,  and  in  the 
vehemence  of  his  feeling,  he  greatly  resembles  the 
Apostle  to  the  Gentiles.  But  with  all  his  unflinch- 
ing adherence  to  purpose,  his  clear  perception  of  the 
dissimulation  and  perverseness  of  the  Jewish  rulers, 
his  open  hostility  to  their  views,  he  carried  with  him 
a  serenity  that  was  truly  admirable,  and  a  tenderness 
that  could  have  been  borrowed  only  from  the  cross. 
In  this  beauty  of  the  Christian  character,  Paul  and 
Stephen  were  brother  disciples. 

The  foreign  Jews  who  occasionally  assembled  at 
Jerusalem  met  together  for  instruction  in  their  own 
exclusive  synagogues.  These  assemblages,  consist- 
ing of  Cyrenians,  and  Alexandrians,  and  Cilicians, 
and  Asians ;  Stephen  especially  addressed  upon  the 
great  subject  of  the  messiahship  of  Christ.  Evidently 
he  was  the  fittest  person  to  stand  in  this  position. 
The  culture  of  his  auditors  was  not  unlike  his ;  he 
would  best  understand  their  needs,  could  best  com- 
prehend their  difficulties,  and  with  more  certainty 
could  meet  their  arguments  and  dispel  their  doubts, 
than  could  any  other  disciple  who  had  been  trained 
in  Jerusalem  or  its  neighborhood. 

From  this  class  of  Jews  Stephen  made  many  con- 
verts. The  sphere  which  was  thus  open  to  him  was 
diflcrent  from  that  which  invited  the  labors  of  Paul^ 
The  latter,  by  descent,  by  natural  affinities,  by  cul- 
ture,  had   been  intensely  Jewish ;  when,   therefore, 


192  STEPHEN. 

he  broke  away  from  these  early  and  tenacious  bonds, 
resigned  everything  that  he  had  once  held  so  sa- 
cred, and  threw  his  whole  energies  and  soul  into  a 
work  so  diverse  as  that  of  laying  Judaism  at  the  feet 
of  Christ,  the  effect  upon  those  who  had  been  simi- 
larly trained  must  have  been  prodigious.  Hebrews 
would  less  reluctantly  follow  where  "  a  Hebrew  of 
the  Hebrews"  led.  And  although  Paul  was  spe- 
cially Apostle  to  the  Gentiles,  yet  throughout  his  let- 
ters we  see  with  what  power  he  brought  all  the  pecu- 
liarities of  his  origin  and  associations  to  bear  upon 
the  uncompromising  Jews  with  whom  he  was  called 
to  deal.  A  similar  power,  probably,  Stephen  exerted 
over  the  Hellenistic  Jews. 

The  success  that  followed  the  labors  of  Stephen 
aroused  against  him  a  formidable  opposition.  The 
unconvinced  of  the  temporary  sojourners  at  Jerusa- 
lem made  their  way  to  the  Chief  Priests  and  Scribes, 
and  incited  them  to  demonstrations  of  hostility 
against  Stephen.  They  carried  with  them  suborned 
witnesses,  who  testified  that  Stephen  had  blas- 
phemed against  Moses  and  against  God.  There 
was  without  doubt  a  foundation  on  which  this 
charge  was  made  to  rest.  With  his  superior  free- 
dom of  interpretation  of  the  Jewish  law  and  the 
Prophets,  Stephen  spoke  less  reservedly  than  some 
would  have  done  of  the  Mosaic  institutions.  Be- 
lieving that  they  were  to  be  merged  in  Christianity, 
that  all  the  prophecies  could  be  fulfilled  only  in 
the  Gospel,  that  Jesus  of  Nazareth  was  the  Jewish 
Messiah,  that  is  to  say,  their  anointed,  spiritual  de- 
liverer, he  would  not  scruple  to  affirm  that  cleanli- 


STEPHEN.  193 

ness  of  the  soul  must  displace  circumcision  of  the 
body  ;  that  the  offerings  of  a  contrite  heart  must 
succeed  the  oblations  of  bulls  and  goats  ;  and  that  a 
universal  and  spiritual  worship  must  take  the  place 
of  the  national  services  in  the  Temple.  This  decla- 
ration to  bigoted  Jews  would  be  tantamount  to  blas- 
phemy, and  upon  this  charge  Stephen  was  brought 
before  the  Sanhedrim  for  trial.  Here  also  witnesses 
falsely  testified  to  some /or»i  of  ivords  that  should 
make  out  a  case  of  blasphemy  against  him.  As  this 
perjured  evidence  brought  him  into  deeper  and  deeper 
peril,  and  whetted  against  him  the  vindictive  pur- 
poses of  his  judges,  all  eyes  were  fastened  upon  him. 
And  as  he  stood  there,  the  light  of  his  faith,  the 
purity  of  his  purpose,  and  that  serenity  that  be- 
speaks a  pure  conscience  and  a  divine  trust,  shone 
from  his  countenance,  as  from  the  face  of  an  angel. 
The  High-Priest  then  calls  upon  him  for  his  defence. 
He  enters  upon  it  with  a  boldness  having  no  look  of 
audacity,  and  a  manliness  unalloyed  by  conceit. 
He  begins,  as  it  were,  apologetically.  His  purpose 
was  to  show  that  all  that  he  had  really  said  was  con- 
sistent with  the  general  tenor  of  Hebrew  Scripture, — 
that  he  had  affirmed  no  other  blasphemy  than  the 
prophets  had  predicted.  He  exalts  the  standing  and 
commission  of  Moses,  —  then  quotes  him  as  testify- 
ing to  the  prophet  that  should  come  after  him.  As 
he  touches  upon  the  elder  prophets  and  their  times, 
the  thought  forces  itself  into  his  mind  that  the  same 
perverse  and  vindictive  feelings  which  the  ancestors 
of  his  accusers  had  displayed  toward  those  sacred 
teachers  of  God  were  exhibited  in  more  malignant 
17 


194  STEPHEN. 

forms  by  these  living  persecutors  towards  the  Sav- 
iour of  the  world.  These  had  filled  up  the  measure 
of  their  fathers  ;  and  as  this  thought  swelled  in  his 
mind,  his  whole  moral  nature  afire  with  indgnation. 
he  burst  forth  into  that  terrible  rebuke,  "  Ye  stiff"- 
necked  and  uncircumcised  in  heart  and  ears,  ye  do 
always  resist  the  Holy  Ghost!  As  your  fathers  did, 
so  do  ye.  Which  of  the  prophets  have  not  your 
fathers  persecuted  ?  and  they  have  slain  them  which 
showed  before  the  coming  of  the  Jast  One,  of  whom 
ye  have  been  now  the  betrayers  and  murderers, — 
who  have  received  the  law  by  the  disposition  of 
angels,  and  have  not  kept  it." 

A  German  critic  has  said  that  the  conscience  of 
the  Jews  was  particularly  sensitive.  Their  long 
training  under  their  peculiar  dispensation  would 
induce  us  to  believe  that  this  might  be.  Unfortu- 
nately, that  sensitiveness  of  conscience  worked  out 
results  of  passion  and  wicked  energy  rather  than 
meekness  and  penitence.  Stephen  had  probed  the 
depths  of  this  active  faculty,  and  as  he  reached  that 
part  of  his  discourse  which  I  have  just  repeated, 
there  was  a  fearful  stir  in  the  council.  As  if  despair- 
ing of  permission  to  prosecute  his  defence  farther,  he 
allowed  his  prophetic  zeal  to  carry  him  whither  it 
would.  It  snatched  his  mind  from  the  train  of 
earthly  events  which  he  had  been  following,  and 
bore  it  suddenly  upwards,  in  divine  contemplation. 
His  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  heavens,  —  the  vision  of 
glory  burst  upon  his  sight, —  the  "  Just  One^^  whom 
they  had  murdered  seemed  standing  there,  exalted 
by  Jehovah  above  all  creatures,  and  ruling  the  seen 


STEPHEN.  195 

and  the  unseen  world,  —  and  Stephen  cried,  "  Be- 
hold, I  see  the  heavens  opened,  and  the  Son  of  Man 
standing  upon  the  right  hand  of  God."  Upon  this 
the  assembly  burst  into  tumult,  and  thrusting  their 
fingers  into  their  ears,  rushed,  with  outcries  of  rage, 
upon  the  poor  lone  disciple,  and  dragged  him  out 
of  the  chamber,  and  beyond  the  city  walls.  They 
waited  for  no  trial, — they  sought  no  judicial  verdict, 
—  but,  taking  the  law  into  their  own  hands,  they 
executed  it  upon  the  uncondemned  Stephen.  The 
heavy  stones  fell  thick  and  fast  upon  him.  As  he 
staggered  beneath  the  terrible  shower,  he  called  out, 
in  the  steadfastness  of  a  faith  that  could  not  per- 
ish, and  in  the  joy  of  a  speedy  deliverance,  "  Lord 
Jesus,  receive  my  spirit  I "  Then,  for  a  moment  hold- 
ing himself  reverently  upon  his  knees,  with  a  life  fast 
sinking  beneath  the  missiles  of  his  persecutors,  —  with 
their  shouts  of  execration  in  his  ears,  he  called  out  in 
a  voice  that  absorbed  every  expiring  energy,  "  Lord, 
lay  not  this  sin  to  their  charge,"  "  and  when  he  had 
said  this,  he  fell  asleep."  How  descriptive  of  his 
peace  of  soul,  and  of  the  narrator's  faith  in  an  awak- 
ening, that  phrase,  "  fell  asleep  "  ! 

Agreeably  to  the  Jewish  law,  those  whose  testi- 
mony convicted  a  prisoner,  and  brought  him  to  death, 
must  cast  the  first  stones  at  him,  so  that  if  their  tes- 
timony should  afterward  be  proved  false,  they  might 
be  held  to  the  responsibility  of  murder.  The  law 
was  a  security  against  perjury. 

In  the  crowd  that  surrounded  Stephen  was  a 
young  man,  whose  hostility  toward  the  Christians 
had  been  particularly  bitter,  and  whose  persecutions 


196  STEPHEN. 

of  them  had  already  rendered  him  noted.  Before  the 
witnesses  could  begin  their  bloody  work,  they  were 
obliged  to  fling  off  their  encumbering  mantles,  and 
these  they  placed  in  charge  of  that  young  by-stander. 
This  fact  shows,  plainly  enough,  their  sense  of  his 
sympathy  and  approbation  of  their  act.  He  was 
known  as  Saul  of  Tarsus. 

This  martyrdom,  the  triumph  of  the  mob-spirit, 
was  the  signal  of  a  terrible  persecution  of  the  dis- 
ciples, in  and  about  Jerusalem.  They  were  scattered 
to  distant  parts  of  Palestine,  —  none  remained  be- 
hind but  the  Apostles.  Saul  of  Tarsus  was  the 
chief  agent  of  this  persecution ;  and  such  was  the 
ferocity  with  which  he  engaged  in  this  inhuman 
work,  that  it  seems  not  out  of  place  to  suppose  that 
the  impression  which  he  received  from  the  death  of 
Stephen,  goaded  him  onward,  as  by  the  rule  of  con- 
traries. 

It  is  not  impossible  that  some  misgivings  may,  for 
the  instant,  have  visited  him  as  he  witnessed  Ste- 
phen's touching  and  sublime  death.  To  crowd  away 
these  misgivings, —  to  shut  his  heart  resolutely  against 
what  might  have  seemed  to  him  a  forsaking  of  the 
Jehovah  of  Israel,  —  to  smother  what  he  might  deem 
the  preposterous  questionings  of  a  conscience,  on 
which  glimmerings  of  the  truth  might  be  falling,  un- 
consciously to  himself;  he  may  have  rushed  to  the 
work  of  persecution  with  a  morbid  zeal,  piling  pur- 
pose upon  purpose,  act  upon  act.  One  thing  is  cer- 
tain, that  his  participation  in  the  death  of  Stephen 
dwelt  upon  his  memory  ;  for  afterwards,  in  recount- 
ing the  facts  of  his  previous  history,  as  offering  cause 


STEPHEN.  197 

why  he  should  not  be  trusted  in  his  new  mission  of 
love,  he  particularly  designates  as  the  crowning  act 
of  his  hostility  to  the  followers  of  Christ,  that  he 
stood  by  when  Stephen's  blood  was  shed,  and  con- 
sented unto  his  death,  and  kept  the  raiment  of  them 
that  slew  him.  I  have  little  doubt  that  that  death 
of  Stephen  operated  in  preparing  the  moral  nature 
of  the  great  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles,  for  that  super- 
natural visitation  which  fitted  him  to  bring  heathen 
nations  to  the  feet  of  Christ.  We  know  that  this 
tragic  event,  like  a  moral  whirlwind,  scattered 
through  distant  regions  the  living  fire  of  the  truth. 
It  sent  forth  the  preachers  fresh  from  this  experience 
of  sorrow,  —  fresh  from  this  example  of  faith,  to  en- 
counter in  the  holy  cause  a  similar  peril,  if  need  be, 
to  die  a  similar  death. 

In  tracing  the  consequences  of  this  first  martyrdom, 
we  are  deeply  impressed  with  the  truth  which  age 
repeats  to  age,  and  generation  to  generation,  that  no 
man  can  live  a  life  of  righteousness  and  fidelity  in 
vain,  — that  though,  when  sown  in  the  world  it  may 
be  overlaid  by  adverse  circumstances,  as  falling 
leaves  may  cover  the  seed,  it  will  spring  up  at  some 
future  day,  in  power  and  blessing,  when  the  shade 
that  chilled  it  shall  have  been  removed,  or  when 
other  circumstances  shall  have  uncovered  it  to  the 
ripening  influence  of  God's  providence. 


17* 


SERMON    XII. 


"NO    JVIATTER    WHAT    ONE   BELIEVES." 


THE   TIME   COMETH,  THAT   WHOSOEVER   KILLETH   TOU  WILL   THINK 
THAT   HE   DOETH   GOD    SEKVICE.  —  Johu  Xvi.  2. 


I  WISH  in  this  discourse  to  examine  a  proposition 
somewhat  popular,  and  to  expose  the  fallacies  which 
it  contains.  The  proposition  takes  this  form  :  "  It 
is  no  matter  what  one  believes,  look  to  his  prac- 
tice ;  no  matter  what  one  believes,  only  let  him 
be  sincere." 

It  makes  a  good  deal  of  difference  what  class  of 
persons  urge  this  statement,  and  in  what  spirit  it  is 
urged.  From  the  lips  of  one  class,  it  is  empty  of  all 
serious  meaning,  yet  it  is  pregnant  with  mischief. 
From  the  other  class,  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  pre- 
sented robs  it  of  a  portion  of  its  dangerousness. 

Thus  this  saying  (for  it  has  become  almost  a 
maxim  with  some)  is  a  favorite  with  such  as  are 
less  anxious  to  guard  purity  of  practice  than  to  ex- 
empt from  rigor  of  opinion,  who  disrelish  serious 
investigations  after  a  true  Christian  doctrine,  and 
who  are  equally  indifferent  to  the  claims  of  a  true 
religious  life.      Their   position   is  negative.      They 


"  NO    MATTER    WHAT    ONE    BELIEVES."  199 

hate  the  wars  of  sects.  They  dislike  ecclesiastical 
organizations.  They  disparage  the  Church,  it  may 
be;  they  see  no  necessity  for  holding  clear  and 
earnest  opinions  concerning  Christ  and  the  soul,  and 
out  of  this  negative  position  comes  their  protest 
against  the  importance  of  opinions,  which  protest, 
from  a  sort  of  verbal  necessity,  rises  up  into  a  cor- 
relative statement  of  the  value  of  conduct ;  proposi- 
tions which  maintain  a  rhetorical  equilibrium,  rather 
than  a  balance  of  convictions. 

The  protest,  then,  of  this  class,  originating  in 
moral  indifference  and  practical  laxity,  prostrates  all 
theoretical  barriers  to  evil,  while  it  erects  no  other 
defences  in  their  stead.  It  is  simply  a  plea  for  gen- 
eral license. 

But  there  is  a  second  class,  who  urge  the  proposi- 
tion which  we  are  considering  from  a  different  spirit. 
They  desire  to  further  practical  righteousness,  —  they 
lament  the  prodigious  waste  of  power  in  the  Church, 
in  teaching  sharp  dogmas  upon  whose  razor-edges 
they  believe  no  practical  issues  can  rest.  They  think, 
that,  if  the  forces  that  have  been  spent  in  mutual 
antagonism  among  the  doctrinal  sections  of  Chris- 
tendom had  been  allied  for  the  overthrow  of  practi- 
cal immorality,  that  there  would  have  been  an  un- 
speakable gain  to  the  purity  and  rectitude  of  the 
world.  In  short,  their  ground  of  protest  is,  not  that 
they  value  opinions  less,  but  that  they  prize  virtue 
and  sanctity  of  living  more. 

The  mischief,  then,  that  is  likely  to  ensue  from  the 
protest  against  opinions  put  forth  by  this  class  re- 
sults from  the  fact  that,  while  they  themselves  do 


200  "no  matter  what  one  believes." 

really  hold  sound  convictions  in  resjDect,  they  are 
understood  as  setting-  but  a  slight  value  upon  them ; 
and  further,  what  they,  with  their  serious  purpose 
may  hold  without  harm  to  themselves,  others  with 
no  such  purpose  cannot  hold  without  mischief. 

But  by  whichsoever  class  the  conception  concern- 
ing belief  is  entertained,  it  is  founded  upon  fallacies, 
and  can  only  be  built  up  into  temptation  and  moral 
danger. 

I  will  repeat  the  proposition  :  "  No  matter  what 
one  believes,  look  to  his  practice,  only  let  him  be 
sincere." 

The  first  objection  to  this  is,  that  it  is  vague  and 
sweeping;  from  its  very  indefiniteness,  it  invites 
every  species  of  perversion.  Unless  interpretation  of 
it  be  dictated  by  the  hearer's  good  sense ;  unless  it 
find  qualifications  in  the  disinterestedness  and  moral 
purpose  of  him  to  whom  it  is  addressed ;  unless,  in 
short,  wise  and  good  men  alone  are  called  to  act 
upon  it,  it  is  an  unsafe  maxim  for  the  individual 
and  for  society,  for  worldly  prosperity  and  for  spirit- 
ual well-being. 

Note  the  drift  of  the  first  clause,  —  "  No  matter 
what  one  believes."  Now,  with  what  does  a  man 
believe  ?  With  anything  less  than  his  rational  facul- 
ties ?  with  any  powers  inferior  to  those  which  raise 
him  above  the  brute,  and  clothe  him  in  immortality? 
No,  —  the  formation  of  opinions  is  one  of  the  highest 
processes  of  the  inner  being.  It  is  the  action  of  the 
understanding  in  conjunction  with  the  action  of  the 
moral  nature.  It  is  that  part  of  man  which  sweeps 
out  from  himself  through  the  universe,   and  which 


"no  matter  what  one  believes."  201 

comes  back  from  this  wide  track  and  turns  inwards 
and  scrutinizes  self,  —  which  weighs  all  the  problems 
of  life,  which  would  even  pierce  the  mystery  of  the 
divine  providence  and  being. 

Now,  the  proposition  which  we  are  considering 
exempts  this  whole,  noblest  province  of  human  ac- 
tion from  the  oversight  of  God.  In  other  words,  it 
declares  that  the  creature,  responsible  for  the  work 
of  his  hands  and  the  path  of  his  feet,  is  not  respon- 
sible for  the  exercise  of  his  intellect  and  for  the  course 
of  his  opinions.  "  No  matter  what  a  man  believes"  ; 
that  is  the  phrase,  —  "  No  matter.^^  His  conscience  is 
not  concerned  in  this,  —  his  judgment  need  not  enter 
into  it.  Hap-hazardlis  as  good  as  deliberation, — 
reckless  plunges  are  as  valuable  as  cautious  and 
scrupulous  gropings,  —  "  No  matter,"  as  pertaining 
to  morals  or  as  pertaining  to  consequences,  whether 
his  opinions  make  man  a  clod  or  an  angel,  this  life 
a  slope  that  ends  for  ever  in  the  dark  valley  or  a 
plain  from  whose  glorious  level  a  soul  may  advance 
to  brighter  and  better  worlds  ;  "  no  matter"  whether 
God  be  an  infinite  impersonal  force  or  a  father  bend- 
ing down  to  his  creatures  in  love,  —  it  is  all  the  same, 
provided  conduct  squares  with  certain  rules,  or,  if 
you  please,  embodies  a  certain  spirit. 

This  proposition  substantially  assumes,  that  opin- 
ions do  not  affect  practice. 

Now  the  broad  history  of  the  world  teaches  us 
that  ideas,  or  opinions  (that  is,  what  men  have  be- 
lieved), have  been  the  seeds  of  the  world's  practice. 
They  have  preceded  all  progress.  Nay,  opinions  are 
the  true  spiritual  substance,  of  which  after-realizations 
are  the  projected  earthly  shadows. 


202  "  NO  MATTER  WHAT  ONE  BELIEVES." 

So  individual  conduct  is  the  embodiment  of  some 
sort  of  opinions.  These  cannot  exist  in  the  mind 
without  products  in  the  life ;  nor  can  the  life  take  on 
a  single  deliberate  phase  which  is  not  the  result  of 
opinion. 

The  sheerest  fallacy  runs  through  the  idea  that  "  it 
is  no  matter  what  a  man  believes."  The  only  form 
which  the  proposition  can  assume  to  save  it  from 
being  an  absurdity,  is  to  suppose  it  to  assert  that  it 
is  no  matter  what  opinions  of  a  certain  kind  one 
possesses,  provided  they  are  conjoined  with  those  of 
another  kind  which  entirely  overrule  them.  For  ex- 
ample, one  might  say,  "  No  matter  what  you  believe 
concerning  the  essence  oi  Jesns's  psi/chological  consti- 
tution, provided  you  admit  his  divine  authority  and 
the  obligation  to  seek  the  inspiration  of  his  spirit." 
But  here  there  is  a  denial  of  the  proposition  that  it 
is  no  matter  what  opinions  one  holds.  It  is  made  to 
appear  a  matter  of  moment  that  certain  opinions 
should  be  entertained.  The  pivot  noiu  on  which  the 
proposition  turns  is  a  choice  of  opinions. 

But  even  on  those  very  points,  excepted  from  the 
dominion  of  exact  opinion,  I  am  not  ready  to  admit 
that  it  can  be  no  7natler,  absolutely  no  matter,  ivhat 
is  believed.  The  history  of  sects  shows  that  it  is 
matter.  While  differing  portions  of  the  Christian 
Church  may  be  moral  and  pious, — the  result  of  the 
broad  precepts  and  holy  example  of  Jesus,  —  a  com- 
mon ground  of  faith,  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that 
their  sti/les  of  morals  and  religion  vary,  —  which  is 
the  result  of  different  opinions  concerning  points 
which  some  would  set  outside  of  the  circle  of  thought 


"no  matter  what  one  believes."  203 

and  which  others  would  regard  as  entirely  uninfluen- 
tial.  It  is  these  very  opinions  that  give  to  Calvin- 
ism its  hue,  to  Wesleyan  Methodism  its  peculiar- 
ities, to  Unitarianism  its  distinctive  aspects,  and  to 
No-religion-ism  its  characteristics. 

This  disparagement  of  opinions  is  what  chiefly 
gives  such  imbecility  to  many  lives, — disjoints  the 
skeleton  of  belief,  and  leaves  conduct  and  the  whole 
mental  structure  deformed  or  changeful  in  its  aspects 
and  uncertain  in  its  gait.  Seek  out  any  life  that  is 
especially  consistent  and  persevering,  worthy  of  honor 
and  confidence,  and  you  will  find  it  upheld  by  a 
framework  of  definite  and  decided  opinions,  and 
definite  and  decided,  probably,  with  respect  to  some 
of  those  very  points  by  you  so  lightly  prized.  In 
short,  taking  the  proposition,  "  It  is  no  matter  what 
one  believes,"  generally,  it  is  as  false  as  history  and 
experience  can  make  it.  There  is  nothing  o/a  man 
except  his  opinions.  Take  away  from  him  what  he 
believes,  and  he  has  no  practice.  Confuse  what  he  be- 
lieves, and  his  practice  is  inconsistent  and  capricious. 
Deteriorate  the  quality  of  his  opinions,  and  you  de- 
grade his  life.  Improve  that  quality,  and  you  elevate 
his  outward  living.  It  would  even  be  a  wiser  and 
truer  proposition  to  reverse  the  maxim,  and  say,  "No 
matter  what  one  practises,  look  to  his  belief P 

There  is  another  point  to  be  considered.  The 
world  is  full  oitrullis, —  God's  gifts  and  ordinations. 
One's  beliefs  arc  the  approximations  of  his  mind 
toward  those  divine  facts  or  relations.  Every  correct 
opinion  is  a  correspondence  of  the  human  with  the 
divine  thought.  Every  incorrect  opinion  is  a  depart- 
ure from  the  exactitude  of  the  Creator's  facts.     Now 


204  "  NO  MATTER  WHAT  ONE  BELIEVES."  I 

truth,  in  whatever  form  and  in  whatsoever| measure, 
is  a  blessing  to  the  mind.  It  is  a  touch  of  life  to  the 
heart.  "Whoever  is  reckless  of  the  belief  which  he 
holds  upon  any  subject  is  liable  to  fail  of  the  influ- 
ences which  accurate  conclusions  dispense,  and  he 
certainly  loses  the  whole  inspiration  of  an  honest 
and  humble  search  for  the  truth. 

Let  us  now  bestow  a  few  thoughts  upon 
another  clause  of  the  proposition  we  are  consider- 
ing :  "  Only  be  sincere  "  ;  "  No  matter  what  one  be- 
lieves, only  be  sincere." 

There  is  a  charm  in  sincerity.  We  can  easily  see 
hoAV  it  may  be  made  to  cover  a  multitude  of  sins. 
It  is  a  lovely,  it  is  a  heroic  quality.  When  one 
really  displays  his  inward  being  in  full,  he  seems  to 
throw  himself  upon  the  generosity  of  observers.  The 
more  transparent  he  makes  himself,  out  of  a  sort  of 
magnanimous  trust  in  his  fellow-men,  the  less  clearly 
do  they  see  his  frailties  and  sins.  Or,  perhaps,  it  is 
thought  that  he  who  confesses  frankly  his  imperfec- 
tions and  taints  shows  in  his  confession  that  he  has 
the  purpose  to  remedy,  if  he  has  not  already  rem- 
edied, some  of  those  imperfections,  —  and  that  he 
has  the  intent  to  wipe  away  some  of  those  stains,  if 
they  have  not  already  been  cleansed  from  his  heart. 

Then,  again,  hypocrisy  is  so  odious  a  vice,  —  is  so 
fruitful  of  embarrassment,  misery,  loss,  in  social  or 
business  life,  —  is  so  prolific  of  meannesses  in  per- 
sonal character,  —  is  so  indissolubly  allied  with  pre- 
sumption and  censoriousness,  that  override  the  meek- 
ness and  carp  at  the  lapses  of  the  good,  and  is  so 
fatal  in  its  poison  to  the  healing  power  of  the 
Church,  that  its  opposite  is  honored  with  a  double 


"no  matter  "WHAT  ONE  BELIEVES."  205 

reverence  and  loved  with  a  double  reafard.  So  it 
comes  to  be  a  virtue  broader  than  its  base  will  allow; 
and  is  made  to  fill  the  vacancy  left  by  mournful  de- 
ficiencies of  character. 

But  we  come  now  to  the  point,  whether  the 
fact  that  one  honestly  entertains  certain  opinions 
is  a  justification  of  those  opinions.  If  so,  then  what- 
ever be  the  real  quality  or  the  influences  of  senti- 
ment, sincerely  held,  he  who  holds  them  is  fully  ex- 
onerated from  all  blame  for  entertaining  them.  "  No 
matter  what  he  believes,  if  he  is  only  sincere."  But 
here,  no  account  is  made  of  the  methods  and  cir- 
cumstances under  which  he  brought  himself  to  such 
belief.  He  may  have  travelled  to  these  sincerely 
held  opinions  through  crime.  He  may  have  resorted 
to  processes  of  self-education  that  were  every  way 
blameworthy,  and  that  might  have  been  easily  avoid- 
ed. In  short,  the  whole  responsibility  of  the  forma- 
tion of  his  opinions  is  undeniably  with  himself,  and 
yet  this  proposition  takes  away  from  him  all  respon- 
sibility for  his  conclusions  after  they  are  fairly  lodged 
in  the  conviction,  provided  they  are  sincere.  It  is 
wicked  to  perversely  court  evil  doctrines.  It  is  harm- 
less to  hold  them  when  habit  and  familiarity  esteem 
them  good,  and  sincerely  welcome  them.  It  is  cul- 
pable to  remain  passively  indifferent  in  the  presence 
of  ideas  or  tenets  that  may  be  of  mischievous  ten- 
dency, but  if  they  have,  through  the  crevices  of  your 
mental  sloth,  insinuated  themselves  into  your  very 
soul,  controlling  it  in  its  whole  action,  7io  mailer,  pro- 
vided you  sincerely  believe  Ihem  true. 

The  mere  disclosure  of  this  absurdity  of  reasoning 

18 


206         "no  matter  what  one  believes." 

is  enough  to  show  that  we  are  responsible  for  every 
opinion  into  whose  formation  our  own  free-will  or 
the  voluntary  exercise  or  non-exercise  of  our  faculties 
entered.  By  the  same  obligations  that  bind  us  to 
the  exact  performance  of  duty  are  we  bound  to  take 
all  possible  pains  to  arrive  at  correct  opinions. 

Ingenuousness  in  disobeying  the  laws  of  the  physi- 
cal world  does  not  relieve  the  offender  from  penalties, 
and  why  should  such  offence  against  moral  laws, 
equally  inexorable  in  their  sovereignty,  nobler  in  their 
guardianship,  be  pardoned  ?  Here  is  one  in  the 
prime  of  life  in  the  habit  of  drinking  three  or  four 
glasses  of  intoxicating  liquor  a  day.  You  reason 
with  him  and  point  out  the  danger  of  his  course. 
He  replies,  that  he  is  convinced  that  moderate  drink- 
ing does  nobody  any  harm  ;  that  it  is,  on  the  con- 
trary, a  benefit  to  many  ;  that  he  is  satisfied  that 
the  effect  has  been  good  upon  himself.  He  does  not 
dissemble  ;  he  believes  what  he  says,  —  he  is  sincere. 

But  you  tell  him  that  his  habit  has  injured  him  ; 
that  his  face  has  begun  to  show  his  excess ;  that  his 
family  and  his  friends  are  anxiously  commenting 
upon  the  gradual  change  that  is  taking  place  in  his 
appearance  and  manners ;  that  his  business  habits 
are  beginning  to  suffer;  that  his  temper  is  becoming 
affected,  and  so  on. 

But  he  replies  that  you  are  wholly  mistaken.  His 
opinion  (he  affirms)  is  very  decided,  that  all  this 
temperance  agitation  is  full  of  harm,  and  all  this  in- 
terference with  men's  personal  habits  is  full  of  im- 
pertinence. He  is  very  sincere  in  his  convictions. 
He  has  been  brought  up  to  believe  as  he  talks.    All  his 


"  NO  MATTER  WHAT  ONE  BELIEVES."  207 

apparent  interests  have  counselled  on  the  same  side. 
Well,  then,  let  him  alone,  his  sincerity  shields  him. 

Who  is  that,  yonder,  reeling  into  that  wretched 
hovel  ?  Who  are  those  tattered  and  emaciated  chil- 
dren, that  flee  from  the  poor  wretch  as  he  enters  the 
door  ?  Who  is  that  broken-hearted  woman,  pale, 
tearful,  trembling,  who,  at  the  bidding  of  his  curses, 
stirs  the  embers  into  a  faint  life  to  prepare  his  food  ?' 
O,  he  is  that  unhappy  man  who  sincerely  defended 
the  habits  that  have  ruined  him !  they  are  the  family 
of  that  sincere  drunkard.  And  this  is  the  way  God 
says  it  is  matter  what  a  man  believes,  —  ^uhat  sin- 
cere opinions  even  he  holds. 

Or  take  another  case,  in  which  the  opinions  held 
shall  be  of  a  different  character.  They  are  opinions 
about  the  Bible  ;  about  Christ ;  about  destiny  ;  about 
God.  They  are  infidel  opinions.  They  pronounce 
the  Scriptures  inventions,  —  Christ  a  man  glorified 
by  fable,  —  imperfect  as  other  men,  and  having  no 
authority  beyond  human.  They  doubt  of  the  soul's 
immortality, —  or  if  it  be  immortal,  they  say  its  after 
life  will  be  a  deliverance  from  present  misery,  and  so 
they  care  not  whether  it  be  immortal  or  not.  With 
respect  to  God,  they  have  no  faith  in  any  such  being. 
There  may  be  one,  —  but  he  will  be  known  only  in 
the  operation  of  laws, —  so  it  is  no  matter  whether 
there  be  one  or  not. 

Now,  I  ask  whether  these  opinions  7nay  7iot  be 
sincerely  held  ?  There  is  no  inherent  impossibility  in 
this.  The  next  question  is.  Can  they  be  held  without 
coloring  life,  and  the  aims  and  motives  of  living? 
You  will  answer,  No.     Is  it  then  no  ^natter  what  the 


208  "  NO  MATTER  WHAT  ONE  BELIEVES." 

nature  of  religious  opinions  is,  provided  they  are 
sincere  ? 

Yes,  it  is  matte?;  even  though  such  sincerity  were 
displayed  from  the  very  earliest  moment  of  the 
power  of  thinking,  —  even  though  it  accompanied 
every  stage  of  after  thought,  —  even  though  it  sought 
all  aids  from  the  counsels  of  the  living  and  from  the 
pages  of  the  dead,  —  though  it  directed  all  faculties 
and  all  opportunities  in  the  path  of  investigation, — 
even  though  it  sought  with  religious  simplicity  and 
with  prayer  to  disembarrass  the  heart  of  all  preju- 
dices and  all  proclivities,  that  the  work  might  be 
well  done  and  the  issues  might  be  correct.  It  is 
matter  whether  man,  after  all  his  severest  trying, 
finally  reaches  truth  or  error.  And  if  opinions, 
formed  after  pure  and  genuine  endeavors  like  these, 
are  of  high  importance,  as  to  their  possibilities  oi  evil 
as  well  as  good,  what  shall  w^e  say  of  those  that 
result  from  prejudice,  or  conceit,  or  bias  of  evil  incli- 
nation, or  indifference,  or  sophistry  ? 

One  may  have  Christian  piety  for,  but  he  can 
hardly  withhold  intellectual  contempt  from,  some 
who  talk  of  their  sincerity/  in  the  forming  and  hold- 
ing of  their  opinions  in  religious  matters, —  who 
have  never  studied  nor  seriously  looked  at  the  oppos- 
ing propositions,  —  but  by  some  shallow  impulse  are 
moved  to  leap  at  once  into  a  whole  circle  of  strange 
tenets,  or  to  shake  from  their  minds  all  definite  beliefs, 
and  sink  into  scepticism  and  indifference.  Surely,  if 
this  haste  and  folly  be  sincerity,  its  recommendation 
of  an  opinion  is  somewhat  questionable. 
I    will  close  by  applying  the   popular    proposition 


"  NO   MATTER  WHAT  ONE  BELIEVES."  209 

which  we  have  been  pondering  to  Paul's  case,  and 
noticing  the  result. 

Paul  was  one  of  those  of  whom  Christ  propheti- 
cally spoke,  when  he  said  to  his  disciples  that  the 
time  would  come  when  "  ivhosoever  should  kill 
them  luould  think  he  ivas  doing'  God  service.''^  I 
will  then  substitute  the  name  Paid  for  the  word  one, 
in  the  proposition,  and  it  will  read,  "  No  matter  what 
Paul  believed,  look  to  his  practice."  What  ivas  his 
practice  ?  It  was  inhuman  and  murderous.  He  in- 
flicted dreadful  sufferings,  not  on  the  guilty,  but  on  the 
innocent  and  the  meek.  Then  he,  being  judged  by 
his  visible  conduct,  was  a  blood-guilty  monster. 
But  not  so.  His  practice  falsely  interprets  him,  un- 
less you  make  it  a  great  deal  of  matter  what  he  be- 
lieved. Ascertaining  this,  a  new  complexion  passes 
over  his  deeds.  They  are  none  the  less  mournful  and 
mischievous,  but  they  cease  to  be  criminal ;  because 
Paul  supposed  them  to  be  the  only  just  expression 
of  the  faith  which  he  had  imbibed  at  Gamaliel's 
feet, — the  only  true  service  to  God. 

Our  proposition,  then,  is,  so  far,  barren  of  all  fruit, 
except  a  painful  absurdity. 

But  again,  "  No  matter  what  Paul  believed,  he 
was  sincere^ 

But  the  fruits  of  these  sincere  opinions  were  cruelty 
and  torture  toward  others  for  conscience'  sake.  Their 
very  sincerity  gave  them  a  bloody  edge.  When  those 
opinions  gave  way  before  the  supernatural  call  of 
Christ,  they  were  attended  by  no  profounder  sin- 
cerity, yet,  contrasted  with  those  they  displaced,  they 
were  as  angels  flying  down  into  the  vacated  nest  of 

18* 


210  "  NO   MATTER  WHAT   ONE  BELIEVES." 

demons.  They  bore  love  and  peace,  sanctity  and 
joy,  upon  their  v^ings.  They  blessed,  the  others  cursed, 
the  world. 

Therefore  it  ivas  matter  what  St.  Paul   believed, 
even  though  he  were  sincere. 

Our  proposition  drops  another  absurdity  from  its 
poisoned  branch.  Let  us  away  with  it.  It  is  not 
fit  to  live  among  the  honest  maxims  of  life.  Let  us 
look  (as  it  counsels)  to  our  practice.  Let  us  give  heed 
(as  it  admonishes)  that  we  are  sincere.  But  let  us, 
also,  as  it  does  not  advise,  be  careful  how  and  what 
we  believe,  as  before  God  and  the  Judgment. 


SERMON    XIII. 

THE  BLESSING  OR  THE  CURSE  OF  THE  laNGDOM. 

AND  INTO  ■\VnATSOEVER  CITT  TE  ENTER,  AND  THET  RECEIVE  TOU, 
SAY  UNTO  TIIEM,  "  THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD  IS  COME  NIGII  UNTO 
TOU."  BUT  INTO  WHATSOEVER  CITV  TE  ENTER,  AND  THET  RE- 
CEIVE TOU  NOT,  SAT,  NOTWITHSTANDING,  "  BE  TE  SURE  OF  THIS, 
THAT     THE     KINGDOM     OP    GOD     IS     COME     NIGH    UNTO    TOU."  — 

Lukex.  8-11. 

The  kingdom  of  God,  a  blessing  or  a  curse,  ac- 
cording to  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  received,  is  the 
great  idea  of  the  text. 

For  illustration  of  this  idea,  let  us  glance  at  some 
of  nature's  forces ;  that  of  gravity,  for  example.  This 
agent  holds  the  rolling  spheres  to  a  common  centre, 
and  keeps  in  its  place  every  particle  of  dust  and  every 
drop  of  water.  It  concerns  itself  also  with  all  earthly 
mechanism,  with  all  terrestrial  structures,  and  with 
the  motions  and  positions  of  the  human  body.  Its 
laws  are  read  by  the  instincts  of  the  tottling  child. 
Adult  prudence  and  skill  make  these  laws  the  basis 
of  products  of  beauty,  of  comfort,  of  grandeur  and 
stability.  The  principle  of  gravity,  then,  appealing 
to  intelligence  and  fidelity,  is  one  of  God's  best  bless- 
ings. 

Yet,  observe  what  disasters  gravity  carries  to  the 
careless  or  the  ignorant,  —  the  fall,  that  dislocates  the 


212 


BLESSING    OR    CURSE    OF    THE    KINGDOM. 


limbs  or  fractures  the  skull, — the  toppling  of  walls, 
that  crush  out  the  lives  of  scores  of  workmen, — 
all  varieties  of  accidents  from  loss  of  equilibrium,  or 
failure  of  support.  Terrible,  yet  benignant  inflexi- 
bility of  law ! 

Again,  the  sun  is  the  source  of  countless  blessings. 
So  fruitful  of  favors  is  it,  that  many  nations  have 
worshipped  it  as  the  benevolent  Deity  ;  yet,  its  rays 
so  strengthening  to  this  well-rooted,  sap-abounding 
plant,  are  scorching  that  one  into  crisp.  Here  it 
comforts  and  gladdens  the  prudent  pilgrim,  there 
it  beats  upon  the  unwise  traveller,  until  he  leaps  in 
madness  or  sinks  in  exhaustion.  Judiciously  used, 
it  fills  the  eye  with  pleasant  hues  and  images ; 
abused,  it  turns  its  own  splendors  into  darkness,  and 
sends  the  abuser  groping  through  the  world.  Most 
hospitable  and  gracious  is  the  sun,  when  man  would 
deserve  its  favors ;  most  terrible,  when  man  would 
resist  its  power. 

There  is  no  blessing  which  does  not  involve  the 
possibility  of  a  curse;  not  through  itself  as  a  cause, 
but  through  resisting  circumstances  as  occasions. 
The  mightiest  benefaction,  moreover,  contains  the 
possibility  of  the  mightiest  calamity.  The  propelling 
force  that  makes  the  benefit  so  signal  must  render 
the  mischief  proportionally  disastrous. 

Let  these  illustrations  take  their  intended  direc- 
tion, and  throw  light  upon  the  twofold  working  of 
the  king'dom  of  God. 

By  this  kingdom,  then,  I  understand  the  whole 
moral  Providence  of  the  Deity,  —  everything,  whether 
law   or   grace,   whether   natural    administration    or 


BLESSING    OK    CURSE    OK    THE    KINGDOM.  213 

revelation,  that  is  attributable  to  tlie  Divine  pur- 
pose. And  of  this  kingdom  I  affirm  that  to  be  true 
which  we  have  seen  to  be  true  of  gravity  and  of  the 
sun. 

This  kingdom,  whose  life  is  the  benignity  of  God, 
is  to  the  resisting  creature  whom  it  was  intended  to 
bless,  the  most  terrible  of  scourges.  (See  2  Peter  ii.21.) 
"  It  had  been  better  for  them  not  to  have  known  the 
way  of  righteousness,  than  after  they  have  known  it, 
to  turn  from  the  holy  commandment  delivered  unto 
them." 

We  might  spare  circumlocution,  and  say,  "  God 
obeyed  is  our  Father  ;  our  Father  disobeyed  is  God." 
He,  the  most  gracious  to  the  trusting,  is  inflexible  to 
the  rebellious.  "  God  is  love,"  says  one  Apostle  I 
"  our  God  is  a  consuming  fire,"  affirms  another. 
Both  are  true.  The  fire  of  the  Divine  Presence  is 
love,  in  its  guidance  and  its  genial  heat,  to  those  who, 
bewildered,  seek  the  beacon,  or  to  those  who  shiver- 
ing, seek  the  warmth.  So  the  love  of  the  Deity  is 
fire,  in  its  deterring  aspects  and  its  retributions,  to 
those  who  are  turning  toward  sin,  or  who  arc  already 
in  the  paths  of  wickedness. 

There  are  theologians  who  divide  the  future  world 
into  regions,  of  which  one  is  the  abode  of  the  blessed, 
the  other  the  realm  of  the  cursed.  But  where  is  the 
necessity  of  such  a  literal  partition  of  hell  from 
heaven,  when  by  the  very  laws  of  the  Eternal,  sin 
finds  its  own  hell,  shut  in  from  all  blessed  allevia- 
tions, by  walls  invisible,  but  tougher  than  brass,  and 
higher  than  the  cope  of  the  firmanent,  —  and  all  this 
in  the  very  heart  of  Paradise  itself,  —  amid  its  bliss, 


214  BLESSING    OR    CURSE    OF    THE    KINGDOM. 

its  harping  angels,  its  perfect  saints,  its  blessing 
Saviour,  its  sovereign  God  ? 

My  faith  is  such,  that  I  cannot  shut  the  Deity  out 
of  hell,  this  realm  of  perdition  ;  for  first,  I  cannot 
conceive  of  a  soul,  while  it  is  a  soul,  as  beyond  the 
pale  of  the  Divine  oversight,  —  and  next,  the  pains 
of  retribution  (as  it  seems  to  me)  must  be  in  part,  if 
not  chiefly,  the  agonies  which  the  presence  of  a  rec- 
ognized God  will  excite  in  the  heart  which  has 
trifled  with  his  grace. 

What  theology  can  demand  or  desire  a  sadder 
destiny  than  that  which  sees  fire  in  a  Father's  loving- 
eye  ;  a  storm  of  retribution  in  a  shower  of  grace  ; 
which  makes  the  methods  and  the  aims  and  the 
spirit  and  the  joys  of  the  holy,  rebukes  and  tantaliza- 
tions  and  prophecies  of  the  doom  of  sin  ! 

Let  us  now  make  some  specific  applications  of  the 
idea  upon  which  we  have  been  dwelling.  As  one  of 
God's  most  benignant  ordinations,  take  a  well-or- 
dered family.  Into  this  family  let  the  infant  boy  be 
born.  A  father's  good  counsel  and  consistent  exam- 
ple are  before  him.  A  mother's  solicitude,  —  her 
patience,  her  gentleness,  guard  him.  Sisters  entwine 
around  him  their  defences  of  love.  Religion,  a 
sweet  and  peaceful  sense  of  God's  presence,  breathes 
like  a  spring-air  through  the  household.  The  spirit 
of  Jesus  is  invoked  in  daily  prayer ;  and,  to  the  ex- 
tent of  human  imperfection,  is  lived  out  in  daily 
practice.  Under  God,  here  is  a  discipline  ordained 
to  deliver  the  child  safely  into  the  perils  and  cares  of 
manhood, —  to  equip  him  for  life's  conflict.  If  this 
youth  surrender   himself  to  this  discipline,  he  will 


BLESSING    OR    CURSE    OF    THE    KINGDOM.  215 

carry  into  all  future  emergencies  the  double  defence 
of  a  heart  trained  to  virtue,  and  of  memories  sacred 
and  loving;  that  continually  refresh  his  spirit,  like 
gales  from  some  blossoming  Eden.  He  is  safe.  His 
heart  and  faith  are  sure.  He  is  in  God's  handS' 
Such  is  the  precious  influence  of  home  upon  the  re- 
ceptive heart  of  this  youth. 

But  suppose  a  different  condition  of  things.  Let 
that  youth  rebel  against  the  discipline  of  home.  Let 
him  despise  its  tender  influences.  Let  him  drop  its 
dear  memories,  as  he  goes  forth  into  life ;  and  his 
career  of  evil  (for  he  will  hardly  escape  such)  will  be 
more  than  ordinarily  dreary  and  hopeless.  Worse 
is  the  state  of  one  who  thus  turns  a  leaden  ear  to 
voices  that  early  guided  him,  and  a  brazen  heart  to 
smiles  that  once  shed  light  into  his  bosom,  than  of 
one  who  never  heard  such  voices,  and  was  never 
gladdened  by  such  smiles.  If  that  early  training  and 
those  heavenly  influences  are  ineffectual,  God's  treas- 
ury of  entreaties  and  of  defences  may  be  said  to  be  ex- 
hausted. What  metodies  could  even  the  seraph's 
'hand  draw  from  the  harp,  whose  form  remains,  but 
whose  strings,  like  straight  veins  in  marble,  are  parts 
of  one  solid  petrifaction?  No  I  I  can  hope  for  that 
young  man  of  whom  in  the  midst  of  his  career  of  evil 
it  may  be  said,  "  he  had  no  home ; "  but  if,  despite 
this  gracious  privilege,  he  show  a  hardness  in  iniquity, 
I  tremble,  lest  what  was  intended  to  be  to  him  the 
life  and  sustenance  of  a  high,  true  manhood,  by  his 
perverseness  has  increased  the  sterility  of  his  spirit- 
ual nature ;  lest  those  chambers,  swept  and  gar- 
nished by  early  hands  of  love,  have  become  the 
dwellincr  of  more  wicked  and  more  tenacious  fiends. 


216  BLESSING    OR    CURSE    OF    THE    KINGDOM. 

Take,  again,  the  Lord's  day  as  a  gift  of  Christian- 
ity ;  a  day  for  abstraction  from  secular  cares  and 
worldly  tumult,  —  a  day  for  meditation  and  worship. 
I  know  of  no  institution  ordained  for  man  which, 
in  its  significancy  and  its  possible  influences,  can 
take  precedence  of  this.  It  is  the  sacred  inclosure 
of  time,  in  which  the  Church  is  built,  and  all  the 
sanctities  of  the  Bible,  the  tender,  free,  fresh  influen- 
ces of  the  Bible,  consecrate  the  day.  To  society,  it 
is  what  the  green,  shaded,  watered  park  is  to  the  hot 
and  dusty  streets  and  packed  squares  of  the  city. 
To  the  meditative  and  devout  soul,  it  is  the  soliciting 
opportunity,  —  the  significant  leisure, — the  lull  of 
the  tempest,  —  the  parting  of  the  clouds,  —  the  lawn 
before  the  heavenly  gates. 

See  next  what  this  day  is  when  desecrated,  —  the 
worst  of  all  days, — the  white  blessing,  begrimed  in- 
to a  curse.  The  jubilee  of  the  devout  become  the 
carnival  of  the  profligate.  There  is  no  such  dissipa- 
tion on  common  days  as  there  is  upon  this  holy  day. 
Not  because  other  days  do  not  offer  the  release  from 
labor,  but  because  the  bonds  of  reverence  to  the  day 
being  severed,  other  sacred  ties  snap  with  them. 
Dissipate  the  awe  with  which  the  stranger  saunters 
among  the  deep  shadows  or  enters  the  vestibule  of 
the  temple,  and  the  sanctuary  itself  loses  its  hold 
upon  his  veneration. 

If  I  desired  to  lure  a  young  heart  into  the  worst 
excesses  of  sin,  I  would  first  strive  to  make  him  vio- 
late his  reverence  for  Sunday ;  and  while  he  was  in 
this  profane  mood,  I  would  ply  him  with  solicitations 
to  deeper  vice.     Better  make  the  Lord's  day  a  holiday, 


BLESSING    OR  CURSE    OF    THE    KINGDOM.  217 

having  no  odor  of  consecration  about  it,  and  invite 
the  world  to  spend  and  laugh  and  visit  upon  it. 
Better  expect  of  it  a  deeper  relish  of  merriment,  and 
trust,  through  this  channel,  to  impart  more  wisdom 
and  more  sobriety  and  more  devoutness  to  the  world, 
than  to  call  the  day  a  religious  day,  and  permit  the 
conscience  to  suffer  extra  debauch,  from  a  prior  vio- 
lation of  its  sanctities. 

A  young  married  couple  once  started  to  join  a 
steamboat  excursion  upon  Sunday.  They  had  been 
religiously  brought  up,  —  brought  up  to  revere  the 
day,  —  but  the  novelty  of  the  entertainment  to  them, 
the  fact  that  they  were  in  a  strange  place,  the  luxury 
of  the  weather,  —  a  conjunction  of  facilities,  together 
with  that  bewildering  absorption  of  heart,  so  charac- 
teristic of  this  period  of  wedded  life,  persuaded  them 
to  the  experiment. 

But  an  uneasy  sense  of  wrong-doing,  the  instant 
they  started,  set  upon  their  track.  A  slight  accident 
occurred  before  they  reached  the  boat,  and  this  brought 
them  face  to  face  with  the  moral  question,  "  Shall  we 
or  shall  we  not  employ  this  day  in  this  unwonted  and 
irreligious  manner?"  They  hesitated.  Conscience 
responded  to  conscience.  The  spirit  of  reverence  in 
the  one  breast  fanned  the  kindling  spirit  of  reverence 
in  the  other  breast,  and  they  said,  "No!  let  the 
Lord's  day  be  hallowed ! "  —  and  they  forbore,  and 
went  home  penitent. 

Forty  years  have  passed  with  them  since  then ; 
that  day  has  ever  been  to  them  a  sacred  season,  and 
they  have  taught  their  children  to  revere  and  to  love  it. 
Its  religious  associations,  revived  and  intensified  from 

19 


218  BLESSING    OR  CURSE    OF    THE    KINGDOM. 

that  early  experience,  have  intertwined  with  and 
have  strengthened  the  whole  spiritual  fibres  of  their 
being. 

But  —  and  here  is  the  point  —  if  they  had  gone,  with 
trampled  consciences,  with  moral  hardihood,  through 
that  day,  confronting  the  protest  of  the  soul  with  the 
sophistry  of  the  senses,  they  might,  —  it  is  no  stretch 
of  supposition,  —  they  might  easily  have  lost,  with 
certain  exterior  defences  of  the  heart,  its  interior  and 
radical  integrity.  If  the  indulgence  had  wo^  been  for- 
borne, and  if,  in  consequence,  the  religious  beacons 
that  have  so  brightly  burned  for  them  upon  these 
Lord's-day  heights  for  so  many  years  had  failed  of 
being  kindled,  what  would  have  been  their  history, 
as  they  journeyed  along  the  dark  secular  vales? 
Would  that  those  who  have  broken  in  upon  the 
sanctities  of  the  Lord's  day,  and  have  reaped  the 
consequences,  might  answer! 

Again,  that  highest  of  all  blessings,  the  Gospel 
itself,  will  furnish  illustration  of  the  truth  we  are 
pondering.  The  Gospel  is  a  tremendous  force  in 
the  world ;  its  energies  were  meant  for  good ;  its 
progress  should  be  an  ever-widening  benediction. 
But  beneath  its  heavenly  wheels  the  careless  and 
the  hostile  may  be  crushed.  Even  Christianity,  un- 
intelligently,  superstitiously,  received,  may  darken 
rather  than  brighten  life,  —  may  bear  before  it  the  ex- 
asperations of  war  rather  than  the  greetings  of  peace. 

Take  that  class  of  persons,  residentst)f  a  city,  who 
have  not  known,  or  who  have  forsaken,  the  culture  of 
the  Gospel.  The  idle  and  unworthy  poor,  the  prof- 
ligate, the  ignorant,  dwellers  in  foul  places,  exiles 


BLESSING    OR    CURSE    OF    THE    KINGDOM.         219 

(through  their  own  fault  chiefly)  from  moral  society. 
To  these  the  Gospel,  since  they  do  not  or  will  not 
receive  its  blessings,  may  be  a  curse.  The  enterprise 
it  awakens,  the  civilization  it  spreads,  the  wealth  it 
helps  to  accumulate,  may  produce  all  the  more  sig- 
nal contrasts,  deepening  the  unhappy  shadows  in 
which  the  class  of  which  I  speak  dwell. 

What  land  of  Paganism  is  so  utterly  benighted, 
stands  so  sorely  in  need  of  the  regeneration  of 
the  Gospel,  as  the  purlieus  of  a  crowded  city,  out- 
side of,  yet  touching,  the  circle  of  Christian  influen- 
ces? The  social  defences  that  Christian  civilization 
erects,  its  profounder  horror  of  human  vices,  its  surer 
punishment  of  human  crime,  its  scrupulous  discrimi- 
nations of  charity,  its  religious  habitudes,  its  very 
contentment,  seem  not  unfrequently  to  aggravate  the 
sin,  and  to  add  to  the  desperation  of  the  unprincipled. 
Nothing  will  so  soon  worse  than  heathenize  a  heart 
as  an  abused  Gospel.  Nothing  is  so  corrupt  within 
us  as  that  which  we  would  defend  by  the  perverted 
sanctions  of  our  own  pure  faith  !  Startling  thought ! 
—  that  we  cannot  be  constrained  to  God's  will  I  that, 
having  cast  at  our  feet  the  gift  of  his  grace,  he  leaves 
us  to  take  it  up  and  carry  it  as  a  treasure  in  our  bo- 
soms, or  to  stumble  over  it  in  guilt,  shame,  and  loss  ! 

Again,  consider  labor  as  one  of  the  Creator's 
vastest  dispensations,  —  as  a  chief  method  of  admin- 
istration within  his  kingdom. 

Labor,  then,  is  to  you  either  a  curse  or  a  blessing. 
If  you  encounter  it  with  a  stony  indifference,  you 
cause  its  divine  purpose  to  perish  ;  and  its  oppressive- 
ness only  remains  to  gall  you.     If  you  wrestle  with 


220  BLESSING    OR    CURSE    OF    THE    KINGDOM, 

it  in  discontent,  you  "  kick  against  the  pricks  "  ;  you 
bruise  and  wear  away  your  best  faculties  in  the 
strife,  as  the  body  wastes  in  contending  with  disease. 
If  you  make  it  the  mere  physical  instrument  of 
gain,  a  sort  of  procurer  to  your  sordid  yearnings,  it 
deplorably  belittles  and  debases  you.  It  depends 
upon  yourself,  whether  your  temper,  or  your  content, 
or  your  interpretation  of  life,  or  your  sentiment  of 
brotherhood,  or  your  estimate  of  the  Deity  shall  be 
impaired  by  the  labor  that  is  your  lot,  or  whether 
by  it  they  shall  be  purged  of  frailties  and  bright- 
ened for  eternity.  The  altar  of  the  cathedral  may 
be  the  very  spot  on  which  the  fanatics  of  a  reign  of 
terror  may  most  successfully  immolate  their  rem- 
nant of  piety  ;  as  it  may  be  the  very  spot  on  which 
languid  faith  may  most  easily  catch  a  kindling  glow. 
So  labor  may  be  a  field  of  trial  in  which  man  may 
become  a  muttering  blasphemer,  or  it  may  be  a 
school  of  culture,  in  which  he  may  learn  to  become 
a  humble  steward  of  sacred  opportunities. 

Follow  labor,  then,  lowly  as  it  may  be,  with  pa- 
tience, with  trust,  with  cheerfulness.  It  may  be  an 
obscure  and  a  thorny  path.  But  it  is  one  of  God's 
roads  to  heaven. 

Think  of  its  meaning'  rather  than  of  itself.  Look 
at  its  heai't,  not  at  its  garb.  See  it  in  its  relation  to 
your  soul,  not  alone  to  your  income.  Change  its 
forms  (if  it  be  well  to  do  so),  but  keep  the  unchang- 
ing content  and  faith  and  piety  that  transfigure  any 
and  all  of  its  forms. 

Again,  disaster  of  every  kind,  disappointment,  trial 
of  the  affections,  bereavements,  are  from  the  kingdom 


BLESSING    OR    CURSE    OF    THE    KINGDOM.  221 

of  God.  They  must  come  nigh  unto  yon.  But  how  ? 
In  blessings  or  in  judgments?  Precisely  as  you  re- 
ceive them,  —  with  a  subdued,  devout  temper,  or  with 
a  resistive  spirit.  Through  tribulation  you  may  enter 
the  kingdom,  but  through  that  same  tribulation  you 
may  be  seduced  into  deeper  suffering  ;  and  what  is 
worse,  into  the  deepest  guilt.  Griefs  have  turned 
misinterpreting  hearts  into  stone,  and  they  have 
changed  stony  hearts  to  flesh.  Sorrow  that  has 
looked  upivard  has  seen  a  shining  way  to  heaven, 
while  sorrow  that  has  looked  doivnivards  has  seen 
the  dull  earth  strewed  with  curses.  There  is  a  pa- 
tience that  can  soothe  the  vexed  spirit,  and  touch  the 
most  desolate  lips  into  prayer.  The  sheet  of  blackest 
water,  if  tranquil,  will  reflect  the  sunbeam  to  your 
eye.  So  disaster,  if  made  placid  by  your  faith,  will 
reflect  a  heavenly  light  upon  your  soul. 

Finally,  the  kingdom  of  God  comes  nigh  unto 
you,  in  the  constant  and  indefinite  mercies  of  God. 
He  is  long-suflering.  He  does  not  cut  down  at  once 
the  thriftless  plants  of  his  vineyard.  He  is  not  strict 
to  mark  our  iniquities.  But  shall  his  forbearance 
through  our  misappropriation  of  it,  prove  to  us  a 
curse?  Will  you  sin,  that  his  grace  may  abound? 
Will  you  lengthen  the  score  of  your  iniquities,  trust- 
ing that  his  lenity  will,  with  an  unquestioning  readi- 
ness, finally  blot  it  out  ? 

My  hearers,  it  remains  with  yourselves,  whether 
you  will  make  this  encompassing  kingdom  of  love  as 
the  brightness  of  the  New  Jerusalem  or  as  the  ter- 
rors of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  ! 

19* 


SERMON    XIV. 


LIFE   A    VAPOR. 


FOK  WHAT   IS   YOUK  LIFE  f     IT   IS  EVEN  A  VAPOR,  THAT  APPEARETII 
FOR  A  LITTLE  TIME,  AND  THEN  VANISHETH  AWAT.  — JamCS  iv.  14. 


The  brevity,  the  uncertainty  of  life,  was  the  writ- 
er's passing  topic.  It  was  in  a  few  words  pressed 
upon  his  readers'  notice,  as  a  rebuke  of  their  world- 
liness,  of  their  irreverent  confidence,  of  their  ava- 
rice. In  view  of  this  solemn  fact,  they  were  coun- 
selled to  defer  more  to  the  will  of  God,  to  rejoice 
less  in  their  presumption,  to  be  piously  distrustful. 

James,  here,  by  life  means,  of  course,  the  material, 
worldly  life,  —  the  life  of  the  senses,  of  the  flesh, 
of  time  ;  —  the  life  of  merchandise,  of  physical  com- 
fort, of  terrestrial  schemes,  desires,  satisfactions,  — 
that  life  whose  existence  depends  upon  the  beating 
heart  and  heaving  lungs,  and  which  perishes  with 
every  function  and  possession  when  the  body's  pulse 
ceases. 

Well  would  it  be  for  us,  if  we  could  realize  this 
truth,  —  if,  with  all  that  pertains  to  a  corporeal  exist- 
ence, we  might  associate  the  consideration  of  its 
perishableness.     Would  that  we  might  all  feel,  amid 


LIFE    A    VAPOR.  223 

the  varied  and  pleasant,  —  yes,  and  for  consolation's 
sake,  amid  the  painful,  —  experiences  that  are  begot- 
ten of  our  fleshly  relations,  that  none  of  these  experi- 
ences, that  nothing  which  induces  them,  is  immor- 
tal. How  healthful,  how  corrective,  would  be  such  a 
conviction !  Will  it  never  truly  seize  our  minds  ? 
Shall  the  "vanishing  vapor"  always  seem  to  our 
misinterpreting  eye  to  be  the  solid  adamant  ? 

The  great  benefit  to  us  of  such  a  conviction  as 
this  of  which  I  have  spoken  would  be,  that  it  would 
almost  necessarily  force  upon  us  a  thoughtfulness  as 
to  that  other  life  which,  as  immortal  beings,  we  must 
possess.  Having  rightly  answered  the  question, 
"  What  is  your  life  ?  "  according  to  the  purpose  of 
the  Apostle,  we  should  be  ready  to  consider  the  same 
interrogation,  as  propounded  by  the  whole  Gospel  of 
Jesus  Christ,  and  by  our  unalterable  relation  to  the 
spiritual  world  and  to  God.  What  is  your  life, — 
your  true  life  ?  Let  this  question  be  the  subject  of 
our  discourse. 

Does  your  life  lie  in  things  around  you?  Is  it 
made  up  of  your  influences  of  condition  and  circum- 
stance? Are  you  nothing  but  what  accident  and 
the  elements  make  you  ?  Is  your  life  a  simple  ter- 
restrial existence,  perpetuated  by  food,  secured  by 
raiment  and  shelter  ?  Is  it  a  delirium  of  pleasure,  — 
a  sleep  of  sloth,  —  a  march  of  habit  ?  No  I  your  life 
is  the  aspiration  of  your  being,  the  energy  of  your 
will,  the  purpose  of  your  soul.  Thus  God  hath 
decreed  it,  mysteriously  blending  dependence  upon 
His  providence  with  absolute  independence  in  per- 
sonal resolve  and  r^onduct. 


224  LIFE    A    VAPOR. 

You  will  sometimes  hear  lamentations  over  the 
force  of  circumstances,  —  you  will  hear  the  weak  and 
the  fallen  justify  their  surrender  of  the  citadel,  by 
pleading  the  power  and  vantage-ground  of  the  assail- 
ant. Yet  who  responds  to  these  poor  complaints? 
Who  does  not  feel  that  they  are  a  miserable  refuge  ? 
Who  believes  that  the  might  of  external  obstacle  or 
seduction  ever  fettered  down  the  energies  of  a  living 
purpose  ?  Eve  said,  "  The  serpent  beguiled  me,  and 
I  did  eat  "  ;  Adam  said,  "  The  woman  tempted  me, 
and  I  did  eat."  But  was  the  forbidden  fruit  tasted 
through  the  force  of  importunity  or  the  weakness  of 
resistance  ?  The  more  I  observe,  the  more  fully  I 
am  persuaded  of  the  impotency  of  circumstances 
over  a  determined  aim  and  a  resolute  will. 

A  little  water,  poured  into  the  crevices  of  granite, 
freezing  and  expanding,  tears  from  the  precipice  the 
rocky  avalanche,  and  splits  the  very  mountain-side 
asunder.  So  with  the  energy  of  the  will.  Shut  it 
in,  —  hedge  it  about,  — bear  it  down.  What  barriers 
will  it  not  burst  through  ?  What  bands  of  embar- 
rassment will  it  not  snap  asunder  ?  What  weights 
of  oppression  may  it  not  fling  off? 

One  of  the  great  interpreters  of  the  human  heart 
rightly  read  this  power,  when  he  put  into  the  mouth 
of  a  noble  character,  a  champion  of  the  cross,  this 
sentiment,  "  Know,  minstrel,  and  put  it  in  song  if 
you  list,  that  Hugo  de  Lacy,  having  lost  all  he  car- 
ried to  Palestine,  and  all  which  he  left  at  home,  is 
still  lord  of  his  own  mind  ;  and  adversity  can  no 
more  shake  him,  than  the  breeze  which  strips  the 
oak  of  its  leaves  can  tear  up  the  trunk  by  the  roots." 


LIFE    A    VAPOR.  225 

He  that  has  lived  a  life  of  irresolution  and  inactivity, 
who  listlessly  walks  in  a  circle  or  willingly  treads 
the  path  of  accident,  does  not  know  the  force  which, 
like  the  electric  charge  within  the  battery,  slumbers 
in  his  breast.  Tell  him  to  put  forth  his  will,  —  to  do 
something,  —  to  be  something,  and  he  will  smile  at 
your  enthusiasm,  will  sigh  at  his  inability.  He  has 
never  felt  the  thrill  of  victory  over  obstacle.  But 
rouse  him  to  the  trial.  Once  inflame  his  will,  and 
mark  what  a  new  life  you  infuse !  You  cause  him 
to  realize  his  moral  competency,  —  you  set  agoing 
the  enginery  of  his  soul,  —  you  stimulate  him  by  his 
own  motion  and  progress,  —  you  teach  him  that  his 
will  is  a  substance,  and  not  a  shadow,  —  a  reality, 
and  not  a  fiction. 

The  record  of  every  day  bears  testimony  to  the 
conquering  power  of  a  resolute  purpose.  Begin  the 
morning  with  random  acts,  —  have  no  fixed  plan,  — 
go,  —  do,  —  here, —  there,  as  impulse  may  propel. 
Let  your  thoughts  be  desultory,  your  hours  be  bro- 
ken up,  and  what  will  your  day  have  been  to  you  ? 
What  will  have  been  that  day's  life  to  you  ?  Free- 
ly may  you  declare  that  you  are  the  sport  of  acci- 
dent. Your  will,  that  should  have  been  vigilant, 
vigorous,  triumphant,  has  slept ;  and  pigmies  have 
made  you  a  prisoner.  No  one,  that  has  any  remnant 
of  the  man  in  him,  passes  such  a  day  and  is  not 
ashamed  and  pained  at  his  unprofitableness, — at 
his  voluntary  surrender  of  his  high  prerogatives, —  at 
his  faithlessness  to  himself. 

"  Such  indecision  brings  its  own  delay, 
And  days  arc  lost,  lamenting  o'er  lost  days." 


226  LIFE    A    VAPOR. 

But  if  all  this  be  reversed,  — if  the  day's  duties  be 
begun  in  resolution,  —  if  the  mind  have  its  purpose, 
the  soul  its  aim,  — if  your  thinkings  and  your  doings 
are  persevering,  continuous,  determined,  —  that  day's 
close  will  have  for  you  its  congratulations.  If  your 
aim  have  been  a  noble  one,  though  the  results  of 
your  toil  were  scarcely  perceptible,  yet  are  you  more 
than  compensated  for  these  scanty  outward  returns, 
by  the  dignity  of  conviction  with  which  your  toil  has 
been  crowned.  It  is  not  the  sum  total  of  achievement 
that  fills  the  spirit  with  delight,  so  much  as  it  is  the 
consciousness  of  honorable  activity  of  the  faculties, 
and  the  maintenance  of  the  rightful  supremacy  of 
the  will. 

It  would,  of  course,  be  folly  to  deny  that  there  are 
barriers  to  the  power  of  the  will.  So  far  as  it  may 
act  outwardly,  it  has  its  definite  sphere,  and  no  coun- 
sel is  reasonable  or  profitable  that  would  urge  it  to 
overleap  natural  restrictions. 

Thus,  it  is  evident  that  our  condition  may  fetter 
the  range  of  the  faculties,  the  direction  of  the  wilh 
Your  path  in  life  may  be  forced  upon  your  accept- 
ance by  what  you  may  denominate  the  tyranny  of 
your  lot.  But  what,  if  it  be  so  ?  The  prescribed 
sphere  of  your  duties  is  the  arena  for  your  conflict, 
not  the  antagonist  with  which  you  are  to  contend. 
Many  of  the  circumstances  of  your  condition  you 
cannot  appoint,  but  you  still,  in  a  substantial  sense, 
may  control  them  ;  you  may  make  them  the  submis- 
sive ministers  of  your  household,  though  they  ob- 
truded themselves  within  your  doors. 

The  world's  record  of  splendid  successes  owes  its 


LIFE    A    VAPOR.  227 

existence  to  the  iron  energy  of  individual  wills. 
Reputations  are  but  the  tracks  of  light  which  the 
resistless  enforcement  of  well-defined  purpose  has 
struck  out  in  the  moral  firmament.  Power  and 
renown,  the  capacity  of  usefulness,  and  the  securi- 
ties of  happiness,  are  not  dropped  upon  human  brows, 
like  flower-wreaths,  from  the  skies.  No!  they  have 
been  reared  from  common  seed,  and  out  of  the  soil 
of  God's  common  providence. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  the  "  Society  of  Jesus  "  ? 
a  name  that  has  made  liberty  tremble,  and  purity 
sicken  with  fear.  Who  knows  not  of  the  past  work- 
ings of  that  engine  of  spiritual  despotism,  whose 
central  springs  were  are  Rome,  and  whose  wheels 
and  bands  did  their  silent,  precise,  resistless  working 
at  the  very  ends  of  the  earth  ?  That  power,  com- 
pared to  which  the  other  widest  and  most  efficient 
organizations  that  the  world  has  ever  known  have 
been  but  playing  companies  of  children,  was  the 
embodiment  of  the  perpetuation  of  the  ivill  of  a 
single  man.  What  was  Ignatius  Loyola,  that  a  pro- 
ject conceived  by  him  should  gird  the  whole  world, 
—  should  dictate  to  the  proudest  intellects,  and  con- 
trol the  most  rebellious  consciences,  —  that  it  should 
catch,  as  with  supernatural  sense,  the  softest  whis- 
pers of  domestic  privacy,  and  record  with  unerring 
pen  the  secret  deliberations  of  cabinets,  —  that  it 
should  be  a  universal  eye  and  a  universal  ear, — 
black  as  midnight,  diff"used  as  space,  noiseless  as 
the  grave,  rapid  as  lightning,  irresistible  as  death  ? 
What,  I  say,  was  the  wounded  soldier  of  Pampe- 
luna,  that  he  should  have  achieved  a  thing  so  mighty? 


228  LIFE    A    VAPOR. 

The  answer  is,  He  was  the  incarnation  of  a  toiling, 
suffering,  indomitable  purpose. 

How  pregnant  the  history  which  Michelet  gives 
us  of  the  French  weaver,  whose  mind  thirsted  for 
culture,  while  he  could  hardly  snatch  from  the  toils 
of  his  lot  sufficient  intervals  for  necessary  repose  I  It 
was  his  habit,  amid  the  whirl  and  vibration  of  twenty 
looms,  to  seize  the  unoccupied  instants  that  followed 
the  flights  of  the  shuttle ;  and,  appropriating  these 
to  study,  without  neglecting  duty,  he  crept  line  by 
line  over  the  opened  page  before  him,  garnering  in 
his  intellectual  harvest  grain  by  grain.  It  was  his 
purpose  that  thus  picked  up  these  little  stray  threads 
of  opportunity,  and  wove  them  into  a  fabric  of  golden 
privilege,  —  which  gathered  together,  as  it  were,  one 
by  one  the  cuttings  and  the  trimmings  of  the  book 
of  time,  and  spread  them  into  pages,  on  which  his 
life's  best  history  was  written. 

How  is  the  power  of  will  exemplified  in  the  his- 
tory of  George  Wilson,  —  the  little  ignorant,  work- 
house pauper,  picked  up  in  the  streets  of  Hartford, 
and  taught  the  first  rudiments  of  learning  while 
doing  household  service  !  This  was  his  position,  — 
what  is  it  now?  He  is  professor  in  the  Royal  Col- 
lege of  St.  Petersburgh,  —  a  favorite  of  the  reigning 
czar,  courted  by  the  great,  distinguished  by  prizes 
awarded  by  foreign  universities  and  by  royal  so- 
cieties. And  what  is  the  secret  of  this  high  and 
honored  position  ?  Fortune,  luck,  had  little  to  do 
with  it.  It  is  the  legitimate  triumph  of  a  steady, 
upright,  and  unconquerable  purpose. 

Again,   for   the    crowning    success  of  a  resolute 


LIFE    A    VAPOR.  229 

human  will,  I  point  you  to  the  career  of  a  little  knot 
of  drunkards,  in  the  city  of  Baltimore.  Drunkards  ! 
met  to  drown  reason  and  paralyze  will  in  a  bar-room. 
There  they  sit,  as  if  to  shelter  each  other  in  shame, 
as  if  to  make  each  other's  weakness  strong  !  There 
they  are,  bloated,  trembling,  outcasts,  —  almost  too 
besotted  to  mark  the  hours,  each  one  of  which  may 
bear  their  blighted  bodies  to  a  dishonored  grave, 
their  crushed  souls  to  the  bar  of  judgment.  But 
what  is  the  reversal  of  the  picture?  It  is  the  up- 
starting of  their  7?;-05^ra/e  wills,  —  it  is  the  birth  of 
purpose  within  their  souls.  It  is  the  power  of  the 
perpetually  asserted  "  I  iviU,''^  or  "  I  will  nol^'' —  a 
power  on  which  regeneration  and  redemption  hang, 

—  which  the  Giver  of  our  lives  has  bestowed  with 
our  lives.  All  glorious  exemplification  of  the  mighty 
capability  of  God's  free  child  !  Who,  henceforward, 
shall  say,  that  man  living-  shall  be  baffled  when  he 
sets  his  soul  to  work  ? 

Perhaps  you  may  demand  instances  of  the  power 
of  the  will  in  some  other  direction  beside  that  of  the 
intellect,  or  of  visible  character,  or  of  outward  enter- 
prise, —  in  the  direction  of  spiritual  life,  specifically. 
If  this  direction  have  not  been  included  in  what  has 
been  said,  it  would  be  easy  to  point  to  Christian 
martyrs,  — to  ascetics,  — to  pietists,  —  to  a  Polycarp, 

—  to  an  Augustin,  —  to  a  Pascal,  —  to  a  St.  Bernard, 

—  to  a  Madame  de  Guion,  and  a  Thomas  a  Kempis. 
But  the  power  of  spiritual  volition  does  not  make 
men  conspicuous,  except  before  angels,  and  before 
God.  It  does  not  show  out  in  visible  conquests. 
It  is  the  soul,  struggling  and  triumphing  within  her- 

20 


230  LIFE    A    VAPOR. 

self.  Its  history  is  private.  If  I  might  call  in  the 
testimony  of  the  humble  multitudes  who,  while  in 
the  "  far  country,"  said,  "  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my 
father,"  and  who  in  the  power  of  that  resolve  have 
arisen  and  have  gone  to  the  Father,  you  would  fully 
feel,  that  in  the  spiritual,  as  in  every  other  depart- 
ment of  action  and  experience,  the  will  is  the  sov- 
ereign of  the  man.  Jesus  said,  "  Ye  ivill  not  come 
unto  me,  that  ye  may  have  life  " ;  by  implication 
asserting,  that  on  their  ivills  depended  their  spiritual 
rescue. 

Poorly  do  material  things  illustrate  spiritual ;  but 
I  will  suppose  myself  standing  upon  the  wharf  of 
a  seaboard  city.  Before  me  floats  a  mighty  ship. 
Within  her  is  ponderous  and  complicated  machin- 
ery. She  is  divided  into  manifold  compartments, 
furnished  for  bodily  comfort  and  repose.  In  capa- 
cious pantries  are  stored  a  month's  provisions  for 
hundreds  of  human  beings  ;  within  her  saloons  or 
upon  her  ample  deck  are  gathered  scores  of  men, 
women,  and  children ;  and  in  her  deep  holds  are 
crowded  the  various  productions  of  soil  and  labor. 
But  why  this  congregation  and  accumulation  ?  the 
vessel  is  as  motionless  as  the  piers  that  hem  it  in ; 
the  wind  plays  around  its  iron  pipes  and  amid  its 
scanty  rigging,  but  it  is  as  stationary  as  the  hills 
before  your  breath. 

But  as  you  watch,  that  prodigious  mass,  with 
all  that  it  contains,  moves  from  its  moorings,  and 
commences  its  journey  upon  the  highway  of  nations. 
But  how  or  where  this  motion  ?  "TAe  ship's  fires  are 
kindled"  and  these  arouse,  as  it  were,   her  irresist- 


LIFE    A    VAPOR.  231 

ible  iviU,  and  send  her  onward  triumphant  over  her 
own  inertia,  and  the  resistance  of  the  element  that 
embraces  her.  And  now  the  ship  rides  upon  the 
boundless  waste,  —  the  security  of  the  harbor  is 
abandoned,  and  winds  and  waves  vex  and  thwart 
her,  —  they  foam  and  lash  about  her  prow, — they 
beat  against  her  sides,  —  they  lift  her  upon  their  mad 
crests,  —  they  plunge  her  into  their  terrific  abysses. 
But  those  patient  fires  still  burn,  —  that  hidden  en- 
ergy still  survives.  She  drifts  and  tosses,  her  speed 
is  stayed,  but  her  course,  though  indirect,  is  oniuard. 
She  ploughs  her  way  to  the  foreign  port,  and  lands  her 
freight  without  loss,  and  her  passengers  without  detri- 
ment. 

So,  my  hearers,  is  it  with  your  life.  The  secret  of 
its  force,  its  progress,  and  its  victory,  is  the  kindling 
of  the  fire  within  you.  To  this  end  circumstances 
and  your  own  needs  bring  their  quick  friction  near 
your  hearts.  To  this  end  nature  spreads  out  her 
splendors,  that  they  may  converge  into  the  kindling 
of  your  faith  and  adoration.  To  this  end  God  has 
sent  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  into  the  world,  that  the 
Divine  may  light  up  your  souls  into  flame. 

Your  motion  depends  upon  the  fii'e.  Your  direc- 
tion depends  upon  the  aim  that  sits  at  the  helm. 
And  the  solemn  question  now  presents  itself,  — Wliat 
shall  this  aim,  this  purpose,  be  ?  In  what  objects 
and  to  what  end  shall  it  act  ?  From  some,  the 
answer  comes,  "  Accumulation  "  ;  from  others,  "  Re- 
nown "  ;  from  others,  "  Station  "  ;  —  from  others, 
again,  "  The  means  of  pleasure."  So  be  it  then,  if 
this  is  their  will, — if  this  is  their  life.     Let  them 


232  LIFE    A    VAPOR. 

sagaciously  apply  their  resources  ;  let  them  maintain 
this  purpose  with  unwavering  steadfastness,  let  the 
energies  of  their  whole  being  be  engrossingly  applied 
to  the  desired  consummation,  and  who  shall  say  that 
their  reward  will  be  denied  them  ?  Our  God  doth 
not  vary  his  ordinations,  though  man  abuse  them  to 
his  destruction ;  and  he  will  not  render  human  will 
impotent,  human  energies  unproductive,  though  dedi- 
cated to  ends  that  dishonor  and  blight  them. 

Rational  and  accountable  beings !  Children  of 
God!  Heirs  of  eternity!  "What  are  your  lives? 
"What  are  your  purposes  ?  Have  you  any  purpose  ? 
or  is  your  mortal  existence  best  likened  to  a  succes- 
sion: of  prints  upon  the  sands  of  the  beach,  —  to  the 
shifting  will-o'-the-wisp,  a  glimmer  without  heat, 
now  here,  now  there,  resembling  the  true  light  of  a 
steady  purpose  enough  only  to  mislead  and  harass 
those  w^ho  trust  to  it,  and  bring  disappointment  and 
despondency  unto  the  soul?  Or  is  your  purpose, 
your  will,  your  life.,  of  earthly  origin  and  for  earthly 
ends  ?  Is  it  a  toil  for  fame,  or  homage,  or  wealth,  or 
show,  or  physical  comforts,  or  terrestrial  delights  ? 
Shall  these  be  the  only  results  of  the  awful  power  of 
the  loill,  the  only  achievement  of  the  immortal  na- 
tures? Can  it  be  possible  that  the  allotments  of 
life,  the  teachings  of  God's  visible  glory,  the  course 
of  His  providence,  the  suggestions  of  experience,  the 
the  voice  of  the  Gospel,  the  example  of  Jesus,  can 
inspire  no  other  purpose,  no  other  will,  no  other 
life  than  this  ? 

My  hearers !  in  your  own  bosoms  is  lodged  the 
mysterious,   the   unutterably   solemn   capability   of 


LIFE    A    VAPOR.  233 

moral,  of  spiritual  decision.  Determine,  in  this  mat- 
ter, aught  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  a  waiting 
spirit  shall  mightily  strengthen  you.  Let  your  un- 
fledged faith  but  struggle  to  fly,  and  hidden  pinions 
shall  unfold  themselves  to  bear  you  up.  Under- 
value none  of  life's  sterling  virtues ;  but  to  temper- 
ance, industry,  prudence,  to  honesty,  courtesy,  truth, 
add  the  dedication  of  your  souls  to  the  Lord.  Mark 
out  your  path,  establish  your  goal ;  but  let  that 
path  be  of  the  spirit,  that  goal  a  heavenly  character. 


20- 


SERMON    XV. 


THE    "HOUK"    OF  TllOUELE  NECESSARY. 


NOW  IS  MT  SOUL  troubled;  and  what  shall  I  SAT?  FATHER, 
SAVE  ME  FROM  THIS  HOUR  :  BUT  FOR  THIS  CAUSE  CAME  X  UNTO 

THIS  HOUR. — John  xii.  27. 


What  hour  was  it  ?  "  The  hour  is  come  that 
the  Son  of  Man  should  be  glorified,"  said  Jesus. 
"  Verily,  verily  I  say  unto  you,  except  a  corn  of 
wheat  fall  into  the  ground  and  die,  it  abideth  alone ; 
but  if  it  die,  it  bringeth  forth  much  fruit."  It  was 
the  approaching  hour  of  pain  and  humiliation  and 
desertion  and  death,  that  cast  its  shadows  upon  the 
Son  of  Man. 

It  is  not  unreasonable  to  assume  that  Christ's  suf- 
ferings were  unparalleled  by  the  sufferings  of  prophet 
before  him  or  of  martyr  after  him  ;  for  he  brought  a 
heavenly  organization  to  be  acted  upon  by  the  tor- 
tures of  earth  ;  an  unstained  purity  and  delicacy  of 
soul  into  collision  with  the  grossness  and  wicked- 
ness of  his  times.  He  brought  his  supernatural  in- 
sight into  the  nature  of  the  human  soul,  and  his  clear 
vision  of  its  destiny  into  conflict  with  the  blinding 
passions  and  besotted  sensuality  of  a  people  rushing 


THE  "hour"  of  trouble  NECESSARY.   235 

to  their  destruction.  It  seems  impossible,  under  such 
circumstances,  that  Jesus  should  not  have  experienced 
tortures,  both  bodily  and  mental,  in  passing  through 
the  final  crisis  of  his  mission,  which  we  with  diffi- 
culty conceive.  The  same  natural  shrinking  which 
you  or  I  would  experience  in  view  of  an  imminent 
and  agonizing  trial  Christ  experienced ;  but  was  it 
right  for  him  to  supplicate  deliverance  from  that 
trial  ?  It  was  not  self-sought.  No  alloy  of  impru- 
dence or  unwisdom,  much  less  of  selfishness  or  sin, 
had  invoked  his  perils.  They  came  as  a  necessity  of 
his  fidelity.  They  were  the  indispensable  setting  of 
the  times  around  the  jewel  of  his  sanctity.  They 
had  been  pre-entwined,  so  to  speak,  with  the  history 
of  his  mission,  and  with  the  events  of  the  world. 
Christ,  from  the  beginning,  knew  that  it  must  be  so. 
From  the  hour  of  his  conflict  in  the  desert,  he  had 
foreseen  this  temptation  of  the  Devil,  and  from  the 
hour  of  the  ministering  of  angels  to  his  spirit,  he  had 
consecrated  himself  to  the  over-mastery  of  such  temp- 
tation. His  work  thereafter  was  2)atience.  His 
cause  was  the  truth.  To  its  sovereignty  he  must  be 
the  sacrifice ;  therefore  he  would  not  pray  to  escape 
the  hour,  for,  in  defence  of  his  cause,  he  came  to 
that  hour. 

It  is  triie,  Christ,  on  his  divine  side,  is  "  God  mani- 
fest in  the  iiesh."  Looking  upon  that  aspect  of  his 
life,  we  arc  studying  the  heavenly  Parent.  We  are 
instructed  as  to  what  our  Creator  is,  in  all  his  rela- 
tions to  us.  It  is  an  opening,  in  fact,  of  heaven  to 
the  earth,  this  divine  side  of  Christ ;  yet  we  are  not 
to  forget  that  he  embodies  also  all  experiences  and 


236       THE  "hour"  of  trouble  necessary. 

necessities  of  man.  He  goes  before  us  showing 
lohat  it  is  that  is  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  God.  The 
problem  of  life  is  solved  by  him.  Its  end  opening 
into  futurity,  —  itself  merged  therein,  is  pressed  upon 
our  view;  and  this  truth,  among  others,  appears 
conspicuously, — let  us  not  say  sadly,  —  that  it  is 
through  conflict,  and  sufferings,  and  tribulation,  and 
some  crucifixion,  that  has  perhaps  the  pain  of  death, 
that  we  are  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  God. 

I  say,  let  not  this  fact  be  a  sad  one  to  us.  The 
victor,  at  his  goal,  crowned  amid  the  plaudits  of  the 
spectators,  looks  back  upon  his  hard  training,  his 
fastings,  his  sweatings  and  sacrifices,  with  joy.  It 
was  the  pain  of  those  early  hours  that  enters  into 
the  muscular  vigor,  fleetness  and  endurance  of  this. 
The  angels,  from  their  sphere  of  wider  observation, 
may  see  each  moment  of  sorrow,  dropped  as  a  seed 
into  the  plain  of  human  destiny,  to  germinate  after- 
ward, and  bear  each  its  blossom  of  delight.  So  let 
us  receive  the  lesson  which  the  fact  to  which  I  have 
alluded  teaches,  and  let  us  not  say  that  the  teaching 
is  cruel,  until  we  know  the  recompense,  —  until  we 
can  expound  all  mysteries  and  possess  all  knowledge. 

For  myself,  I  think  I  can  see  clearly  how  and  why 
it  is  that  such  trying  instrumentalities  are  needed  to 
lift  us  to  God.  God,  in  the  highest  conception  which 
we  form  of  him,  is  not  of  the  prosperous  fortunes 
of  the  earth ;  not  but  what  his  laws  are  sovereign 
through  all  fortunes,  not  but  what  his  smiles  may  be 
reflected  and  his  blessing  may  be  confessed  in  pure 
earthly  successes  and  triumphs ;  but  he  is  a  Spirit, 
aside  from  the  processes  and  results  of  practical  life, 


THE    "hour"    of    trouble    NECESSARY.  237 

however  much  he  may  be  regarded  as  within  such. 
To  one  distinctively  seeking  God,  he  is  a  Spirit 
alone  and  apart  from  everything  thus  tangible  and 
visible.  What  rare  soul  is  there,  rather,  what 
anomalous  and  fearful  being  is  there,  among  men, 
that  can  learn  of  and  feel  God  in  his  highest  attri- 
butes and  relations  along  a  path  of  unbroken  com- 
fort and  success  ?  Such  knowledge,  by  such  means, 
is  not  found  ;  or  so  rarely  as  to  form  an  exception 
that  places  the  general  law  in  bolder  relief.  Men 
wordlily  prosperous  are  not,  as  observation  shows 
us,  the  clearest  seers  of  God.  Communities  like  the 
Ephesians,  rich  and  luxurious,  become  spiritually 
blind  and  dead,  and  given  up  to  the  grossness  of 
idolatry.  The  hope  of  immortality,  like  a  night-light, 
fades  out  in  the  gairish  day  of  earthly  prosperity. 

The  entirely  successful  man  comes  to  deify  his 
own  energies  and  his  own  sagacity.  The  highest 
powers  are  to  him  the  laws  of  physical  cause  and 
effect,  —  the  certainty  of  results  following  care,  dili- 
gence, and  shrewdness.  He  is  likely  to  become  a 
materialist ;  a  practical  necessarian,  which  is  not  far 
from  being  an  atheist.  The  entirely  successful  man, 
the  man  freed  from  sickness,  pain,  and  sorrows,  finds 
this  horizon  broad  enough  for  him,  and  tries  to  find 
this  heaven  happy  enough. 

The  one  signal  result  of  such  an  earthly  condition 
is,  that  the  creature,  with  a  dominant,  sensual,  or 
worldly  nature,  with  the  inward  vision  blinded,  the 
soul  bewildered  by  present  splendors,  finds  no  need 
of  God.  And  yet,  God,  or  the  sense  of  God,  is  as 
necessary  to  the  human  soul  as  sound  to  the  ear  or 
light  to  the  eye. 


238       THE  "hour"  of  trouble  necessary. 

It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  human  lot  must  be 
comparatively  a  lot  of  ill  success,  of  suffering,  of 
want.  Man  must  be  goaded  by  a  sense  of  incom- 
pleteness, of  non-requital.  He  must  pluck  the  bitter 
berries  of  disappointment,  with  the  fruits  of  content, 
along  the  hedgerows  of  his  pilgrimage.  There  must 
be  a  death's-head  at  his  feast. 

This  is  all  necessary,  I  say,  to  make  God  a  reality 
to  the  soul,  to  make  the  soul  "  feel  after  him,"  and 
lean  upon  him  as  its  strength,  and  embrace  him  as 
its  comfort.  This  is  all  necessary,  as  the  prophecy  of 
a  future  condition.  These  wants  and  sorrows,  creat- 
ing desires,  visions,  hopes,  are  the  cross  lights  and 
shadows  thrown  across  the  earthly  path  from  the 
heavenly  city.  They  are  the  monitions,  thickening 
as  we  go,  that  this  is  not  our  rest,  that  there  is  be- 
yond the  present  a  better  country. 

Let  us  remember,  that  all  these  instrumentalities, 
judging  of  man  by  what  he  is  here,  seem  superfluous, 
nay,  more,  mal-adapted,  inhuman.  But  man  is  not 
to  be  so  judged.  His  condition  is  not  to  be  so 
viewed.  This  life,  in  comparison  with  the  life  to  be 
unfolded,  is  as  the  embryo  to  the  full-formed  crea- 
ture ;  is  as  the  grossness  of  matter  to  the  subtlety  of 
the  spirit.  We  must,  therefore,  as  I  have  before 
intimated,  seek  the  solution  of  the  problem  of  this 
life  in  the  fact  of  another  and  an  endless  existence. 
The  rudiments  of  all  after-functions  are  implanted 
with  the  original  creation  of  being.  Those  rudiments 
must  and  will  give  sign  of  their  existence  ;  and  as 
far  short  should  we  fall  of  a  fit  estimate  of  man, 
neglecting  these  rudiments  of  his    after  condition, 


THE  "hour"  of  trouble  NECESSARY.    239 

judging  alone  by  his  developed  earthly  proportions, 
as  we  should  fall  short  of  a  proper  estimate  of  the 
plant,  judging  from  the  short  stalk  alone,  and  negleet- 
ing  the  little  bud  that  is  to  be  unfolded  from  that 
stalk  into  a  plume  of  graceful  branches  and  of  shin- 
ing leaves. 

Therefore,  Christ  revealing  to  us  the  necessities 
and  destiny  of  the  human  creature,  made  and  tempted 
like  his  brethren,  led  the  way  through  tribulation 
unto  glory.  I  cannot  conceive  of  a  Saviour  of  man, 
though  he  were  pure  Divinity  itself,  as  doing  his 
work  of  redemption  by  a  life  of  earthly  splendor  and 
success.  The  glory  of  such  a  life  must  be  the  glory 
of  the  touching  and  tender  virtues.  The  exaltation 
of  such  a  life  must  be  the  depths  of  its  disinterested 
endurance.  The  power  of  such  a  life  must  be  its 
weakness  in  all  the  defences  which  art  or  prowess 
could  erect.  The  crown  of  such  a  life  must  be  the 
radiance  of  heavenly  approval,  upon  a  head  that  has 
been  bruised  by  contumely  and  enveloped  in  the 
shadows  of  all  earthly  sorrow.  How  touchingly  do 
the  memorials  before  us  proclaim  this  great  truth. 
They  are  the  double  seal  of  a  cgvenant  ratified  by 
the  quivering  body  and  the  gushing  blood  of  the 
divine  sufferer.  Elements  infolding  the  mystery  of 
the  power  that  lay  in  that  life,  of  the  success  of  that 
leadership  unto  glory. 

A  practical  question  may  now  be  put,  in  view  of 
what  has  been  suggested.  Are  tiiere  not  many  who 
feel  that  everything  is  well  with  them,  that  they  have 
found  peace  of  heart,  and  joy  in  devout  exercises,  who 
have  not  brought  these  conditions  of  spirit  to  the 


240       THE  "hour"  of  trouble  necessary. 

great  test  which  Christ  has  disclosed  and  illustrated ; 
namely,  the  test  of  suffering,  of  reverses,  of  embar- 
rassments, of  some  ill  to  body,  mind,  or  estate  ? 

To  make  my  meaning  clear,  I  will  offer  a  plain 
illustration.  I  will  suppose  the  head  of  a  family  to 
be  oppressed  with  debt.  His  business  yields  him  an 
insufficient  income.  He  finds  many  wants  which  he 
must  leave  unsatisfied.  It  costs  him  great  care,  and 
contrivance,  and  economy,  to  save  himself  from 
serious  difficulties.  He  is  a  man  of  religious  habits, 
and  desires  to  be  a  God-fearing  man ;  but  he  grows 
discontented  and  querulous ;  perhaps,  grows  nig- 
gardly in  spirit ;  perhaps  impugns  the  course  of 
events,  utters  hard  judgments  of  his  successful 
neighbors,  loses  the  evenness  of  his  temper,  and 
perhaps  the  line  of  exact  honesty.  The  thought 
comes  over  him  that  he  is  losing  foothold  of  the 
Christian  ascent ;  his  heart  smites  him,  that  with  a 
fair  seeming  there  is  great  hoUowness  within,  and 
many  an  ejaculation  escapes  him,  "  God  be  merciful 
to  me  a  sinner !" 

His  outward  condition  slides  gradually  into  im- 
provement. Income  increases.  Unsatisfied  wants 
grow  fewer.  The  stream  of  his  fortune  finally  glides 
on  without  eddies,  almost  without  a  ripple. 

And  now,  reflecting  upon  himself,  he  says,  with  no 
insincerity,  "  I  am  a  better  man  than  I  used  to  be; 
my  temper  is  more  even ;  I  have  fewer  wicked  dis- 
contents in  my  heart ;  I  love  my  neighbors  more ; 
I  have  a  more  vivid  sense  of  the  mercies  of  God ; 
my  life  is  more  effectually  guided  than  it  was  wont 
to  be  by  the  Christian  rudder  " ;  —  and  then  he  really 
thanks  God  for  the  blessed  change. 


THK    "hour"    of    trouble    NECESSARY.  241 

Ah !  sincere,  but  mistaken  man !  You  are  the 
same  being  that  you  were  a  few  years  since,  when, 
with  a  smitten  heart,  you  besought  God  to  "  be  mer- 
ciful to  you  a  sinner."  The  circumstances  around 
you  have  alone  shifted  their  positions ;  your  tempta- 
tions are  fewer,  your  distresses  are  none  ;  there  are 
no  rocks  before  your  prow,  and  the  wind  is  in  your 
sails.  But  your  departing  embarrassments  have  not 
borne  away  with  them  your  frailties  and  your  sin- 
fulness. You  need  again  the  Christian  test,  tribula- 
tion, to  try  the  purity  of  your  metal,  and  thus  tried,  it 
would  show  again  the  dingy  spots  of  your  moral  alloy. 
You  have  not  gone  through  the  purgation  that  is  to 
fit  you  for  heaven.  You  are  good,  simply  through 
lack  of  inducements  to  become  bad.  Watch  now, 
in  your  present  comfortable  lot ;  there  may  still  be 
in  it  some  trifling  annoyances.  Go  manfully  into 
the  search  ;  and  ask  yourself  how  you.  stand  the  test 
of  these.  What!  is  there  something  of  the  old 
frailty  left  under  the  prick  of  these  little  thorns  ? 
Must  your  moral  nature  flee  away  to  covert  beneath 
this  mere  drizzle  of  resistance  ?  What,  then,  when 
the  heavy  drops  of  trial  come  pattering  upon  your 
head  ?  What,  then,  when  the  very  tempest  and  flood 
of  tribulation  beat  upon  you,  and  threaten  to  over- 
whelm you? 

Peace,  my  hearers,  —  the  peace  that  is  enduring 
enough  to  reach  heaven, — the  peace  that  is  of  a 
quahty  to  be  welcomed  in  heaven,  —  "  the  peace  that 
passeth  understanding,"  —  is  not  the  equableness 
of  an  undisturbed  lot.  More  like  this  peace  is  the 
repose  of  the  gorged  animal  basking  in    the  sun. 

21 


242       THE  "hour"  of  trouble  necessary. 

Spiritual  peace  is  not  the  quiet  of  a  nature  that  has 
no  foes  to  challenge  it,  but  it  is  the  rest  and  content 
that  come  after  victory,  —  victory  over  self.  When 
circumstances  crowd  try  in  gly  around  the  man,  threat- 
ening him  with  inward  turbulance,  —  loss  of  patience, 
discontent,  unkindness  of  heart, —  then  let  him  say. 
These  things  are  as  a  fire  to  burn  up  the  chaif  that  is 
within  me,  and  present  me  purer  before  man  and 
God  ;  and  let  him  then  be  true  to  these  promptings, 
and  fight  down  the  rising  foe,  and  meekly  invoke 
the  great  Helper  to  his  side,  and  he  becomes  the  vic- 
tor, and  has  the  peace  of  victory.  He  has  conquered 
circumstances,  not  they  him.  He,  his  rightful  self, 
his  conscience,  his  diviner  functions,  have  risen  to 
supremacy  over  the  carnal  nature, —  a  nature  given  to 
drag  onward  the  mortal  chariot  in  which  the  spirit 
sits  as  lord. 

There  is  nothing  human  but  must  pass  through 
fire  before  it  becomes  divine.  When  contentment 
has  passed  through  the  furnace,  and  is  still  content- 
ment, it  may  be  sure  that  it  is  of  heavenly  quality. 
Before,  it  may  have  been  satisfaction  with  outward 
favors  or  with  worldly  exemptions ;  now,  it  must  be 
a  satisfaction  in  God.  Sanctity  must  pass  through 
the  fire,  or  it  may  be  a  sanctity  of  forms  and  habits  ; 
a  sanctity  of  traditional  opinions  and  traditional 
observances;  a  sanctity  of  discretion,  or  expediency, 
or  inheritance.  But  pass  it  through  the  fire,  and  if  it 
live,  it  becomes  a  sanctity  of  the  soul.  You  will 
then  find  it  praying  amidst  the  sound  of  curses;  keep- 
ing the  Sabbath  where  there  are  no  temples ;  and 
feeding  upon  memories  of  the  Bible  where  the  Bible 


THE    "hour"    of    TUOUBLE    NECESSARY.         243 

itself  is  wanting.  You  will  find  it  standing  alone  in 
righteousness  and  devotion,  when  there  are  no  eccle- 
siastical organizations  to  lean  upon ;  when  there  is 
no  moral  finger  to  point  in  scorn  to  religious  laxity  ; 
and  when  indeed  irreverent  thinking  and  latitudi- 
narian  practice  invite  to  their  evil  counsels  and  evil 
ways. 

This  fiery  trial,  my  hearers,  is  not  kindled  for  you  < 
in  some  remote  valley,  or  on  some  mountain-top,  but 
at  your  own  hearths  and  in  your  own  daily  walks. 
In  the  outset  of  this  discourse,  I  supposed  an  im- 
possibility,—  a  man  successful  in  every  direction  of 
desire.  There  are  sufl'erings  oj"  some  kind  in  every 
path.  As  with  Christ,  so  to  every  man  there  is  an 
hour  to  which  he  must  come,  —  an  hour  of  light 
tribulation  compared  with  Christ's,  but  heavy  enough 
to  try,  and  test,  and  discipline,  and  deliver  the  soul. 
This  very  day  many  of  us  have  doubtless  had  such 
an  hour  ;  an  hour  of  some  grievance,  or  some  provo- 
cation, or  some  annoyance,  or  some  seduction,  or 
some  inward  desire,  clashing  with  the  sense  of  what 
is  true,  and  right,  and  God-approved.  And  how 
have  we  come  to  such  an  hour,  and  how  have  we 
gone  through  it  ?  Scorched, —  shrivelled,  —  crisped 
by  the  flame  ?  or  stronger  and  brighter  for  it  as  we 
sit  here  ;  fitter  for  prayer,  for  thanksgiving,  for  com- 
munings with  the  unseen  world.  Christ's  hour  came, 
and  he  was  glorified  thereby ;  and  his  triumph  is  to 
us  the  spur  and  the  lure  which  we  may  not  despise ; 
to  the  end  that  every  hour  of  trial  to  our  souls  may 
bring  to  us  glory  and  not  shame;  and,  O  Holy 
Saviour !  sent  by  the  Father  into  the  world  for  the 


244       THE  "hour"  of  trouble  necessary. 

help  of  the  frail  and  the  deliverance  of  the  trusting, 
may  the  lesson  of  thy  fidelity  be  engraven  on  our 
souls !  and  may  the  spirit  of  thy  mission  be  kindled 
in  our  hearts ;  and  may  we  drink  of  thy  cup,  nor 
shrink  from  thy  baptism,  that  we  may  enter  into 
thy  glory  I 


SEEMON     XVI. 

OFFENCES  MUST  GOME. 

WOE  UNTO  THE  "WORLD  BECAUSE  OF  OFFENCES  !  FOR  IT  MUST 
NEEDS  BE  THAT  OFFENCES  COME  J  BUT  WOE  TO  THAT  MAN  BY 
WHOM  THE  OFFENCE  COMETH  !  —  MatthcW  XA'iii.  7. 

Suppose  either  of  the  two  latter  clauses  of  the 
text,  "  It  must  needs  be  that  offences  come,"  "  Woe 
to  that  man  by  whom  the  offence  cometh,"  had  stood 
alone,  unqualified  by  the  other  clause ;  what  would 
have  been  the  doctrine  taught  ? 

Take  the  first  of  the  two  clauses,  "  It  must  needs 
be  that  offences  come."  This  declares  the  certainty, 
nay,  the  inevitableness  of  crime.  If  it  were  the  only 
declaration  in  Scripture  in  anywise  connected  with 
human  transgression,  what  a  doctrine  of  necessity, 
of  fatalism,  would  it  teach.  How  it  would  seem 
coldly  to  state  the  inevitable  conditions  of  humanity! 
to  bear  testimony  to  the  inherent,  ineradicable  sin  of 
the  world  I  to  point  out  the  unchangeable  workings 
of  the  stupendous  machine,  the  moral  universe  !  to 
banish  the  idea  of  a  Providence,  and  of  course  to 
chill  the  ardor  and  dim  the  hope  of  benevolence  in 
any  of  its  aims  toward  relief  from  the  various  ills  of 
the  world  I 

21* 


246  OFFENCES    MUST    COME. 

"  Offences  must  comeJ^  Suppose  this  were  the  only- 
doctrine  taught ;  what  would  be  public  action,  or 
what  private  effort  ?  Chiefly  defence  and  alleviation. 
Laws  would  be  enacted  to  restrain  the  offender;  to 
limit  the  consequence  of  the  offence.  It  would  be 
taken  for  granted  that  the  sources  of  evil  could  not 
be  dried  up  ;  that  the  putrid  waters  7nust  Row.  Care 
only  would  be  exerted  to  keep  the  stream  within 
channels  that  should  guard  its  direction,  and  to  dis- 
infect the  air  into  which  it  throws  its  poison. 

But  the  idea  of  personal  accountableness  would 
be  no  part  of  the  philosophy  begotten  of  the  state- 
ment, "  Offences  must  come."  The  idea  of  modify- 
ing such  a  result,  by  effort  acting  on  the  individual 
heart,  through  the  instrumentalities  of  blame  for 
wrong,  warnings  against  delinquencies,  encourage- 
ments toward  uprightness,  would  be  faint,  if  it  had 
any  existence  at  all.  And  think  what  exhibitions  of 
tender  devotion  or  of  heroic  endeavor  (founded  on  a 
faith  that  the  soul  is  the  voluntary  engenderer  of  of- 
fences) would  be  lost  to  the  world !  There  have 
been  no  such  labors,  no  such  sacrifices  of  tears  and 
of  blood,  no  such  expenditures  of  the  treasures  of 
love,  as  those  compelled  by  interest  in  the  soul  of 
man,  as  a  free,  accountable  agent. 

There  are  practical  teachings  of  our  day,  as  there 
have  been  in  times  past,  which  seem  to  be  founded 
in  no  slight  degree  on  such  an  interpretation  of  the 
conditions  of  the  moral  world  as  the  dissevered  clause 
which  we  are  considering  suggests.  These  opinions 
say,  "  Offences  must  come."  And  they  find  the 
cause  of  them  in  mai-adjusted  social  relations ;  in 


OFFENCES    MUST    COME.  247 

defective  laws ;  in  artificial  contrasts  of  position ; 
in  unjust  relations  of  capital  and  labor  ;  in  false  con- 
nections of  man  with  woman  ;  in  the  existence  of 
many  similar  abuses  founded  on  selfishness. 

And  so  far  do  some  of  these  modern  teachers 
carry  their  theories,  that  they  in  substance  say, 
While  society  is  thus  out  of  joint,  the  constraints  to 
evil-doing  are  irresistible.  The  moral  results,  though 
pitiable,  are  not  blameworthy.  The  individual,  the 
instrument  of  the  offence,  is  to  be  avoided,  perhaps 
confined,  certainly  to  be  compassionated,  but  not 
condemned  as  guilty.  He  is  a  victim,  not  a  crim- 
inal. 

Some  of  the  modern  French  writers  on  Social 
Ethics,  take  this  view,  with  more  or  less  qualifica- 
tion. It  seems  to  be  a  natural  view  for  those  who 
have  deeply  felt  the  pressure  of  exterior  evils ;  espe- 
cially who  have  been  scourged  by  social  wrongs ; 
who  have  dwelt  amid  the  oppressions  of  a  bad  gov- 
ernment ;  the  indifference  of  class  toward  class ;  pub- 
lic rapacity  and  corruption ;  who  have  seen  enough 
in  these  outward,  material  arrangements  and  opera- 
tions of  the  civil  and  social  world  to  overbear  all 
patience,  all  purity,  all  rectitude  ;  to  compel,  in  other 
words,  the  development  of  evil  in  the  trampled  indi- 
vidual,—  recklessness,  wild  passion,  revenge,  craft, 
etc. 

Then,  further,  and  especially  with  the  French 
school  of  reformers,  the  religious  sense  seems  to  be 
weak,  moral  principles  seem  to  be  placed  upon  a 
false  foundation,  to  have  hardly  an  absolute  exist- 
ence   (independent   of  man,  so  to    speak,  and   al- 


248  OFFENCES    MUST    COME. 

lied  with  God),  but  are  diluted  into  fitnesses;  con- 
founded with  instinctive  affinities  ;  limited  by  natu- 
ral desires ;  made  changeable  with  the   caprices  of 
the  individual,  or  the  shiftings  of  external  circum- 
stances.     The   consequence  of  such  a  philosophy 
(and  it  has  been  training  the  hearts  of  the  French 
people  for  a  hundred  years)  must  be,  to  look  to  the 
external  for  supports  or  hinderances  to  '■^  hai'moniaV 
and   "  unitary "  (it  would   not   be    styled   virtuous) 
action ;    to  look  to  the    external   as   begetting   the 
clashings  and   interferences  of  follij,  it  would  not 
be  styled  the  iniquity  of  sinful  affections.  '  Nothing 
would  so   soon  quiet  the  turbulence  of  a  Parisian 
pandemonium,  as  to  throw  open  its  doors  and  win 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  to  cross  its  threshold.     There  can 
be  no  hope  for  the  French  people,  in  the  v/ay  of  true 
liberty,  until  the  seeds  of  the  virtuous  be  first  sown  in 
their  hearts;  until  religion  be  unbound  and  un-eccle- 
siasticized  ;  until  she  come  down  from  her  pedestal, 
and  out  of  her  stately  and  unnatural  surroundings, 
and  with  life-blood  in  her  cheeks,  and  the  fire  of  love 
in  her  eye,  and  the  ministrations  of  brotherhood  in 
her   ready  hand,  mingles  with  the    multitude,  and 
makes  her  daily  blessing  felt  to  be  indispensable ; 
until  the  French  can  reverence  the  past,  they  can 
never  build  for  the  future ;  and  the  past  on  earth 
will  never  find  reverence  in  the  heart,  until  a  higher 
reverence  first  exists   there.     This   seems  to  be  the 
difficulty  with  that  strange  nation  in  its  attempts  at 
self-improvement;  and  with  many  of  its  writers  on 
social  reform.     They  see  in  the  external  chiefly  the 
causes  of  misery,  and  they  spend  their  endeavors  in 


OFFENCES    MUST    COME.  249 

modifying  the  outward  ;  wliereas,  they  need  to  know 
that  it  is  the  regulated  powers,  the  fixed  principles, 
the  living  faith  of  the  individual  man,  that  must  lie 
under  every  successful  attempt  at  beneficial,  social, 
or  civil  change. 

But  suppose,  now,  that  the  last  clause  of  the  text 
stood  alone,  "  Woe  to  that  man  by  whom  the  offence 
cometh,"  what  doctrine  would  it  teach  ?  The  doc- 
trine of  harsh  judgments,  of  unrelenting  condemna- 
tions. Its  philosophy  would  be  that  of  unqualified  hu- 
man responsibility  ;  of  wrong-doing  in  every  form  as 
unextenuated  sin.  It  would  sharpen  the  edge  of  every 
penalty.  It  would  draw  tighter  the  cords  of  all  dis- 
cipline. It  would  admit  no  allowances  in  estimate 
of  blame,  and  temper  no  verdict  with  lenity.  On  the 
guilty  affections,  the  disobedient  will  of  the  trans- 
gressor, would  fall  the  whole  weight  of  condemna- 
tion. 

And  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  there  are  those 
whose  moral  and  religious  philosophy  takes  this 
direction.  They  are  stern  overseers,  not  wise  and 
benignant  watchers,  of  human  affairs.  They  take 
into  very  little  account  the  circumstances  that  sur- 
round the  heart,  and  attribute  all  evils  to  the  deliber- 
ate and  conscious  transgressions  of  the  individual. 
And  especially  is  this  disposition  to  overlook  out- 
ward, extenuating  circumstances,  and  hold  the  of- 
fender to  his  responsibility,  aggravated  by  the  theo- 
logical theory  of  original  sin  and  of  total  depravity. 
Hardest  do  they  bear  upon  the  transgressors  who 
hold  this  theory.  Least  interested  are  such  in  efforts 
at  social  reform.     Where  they  seek  the  improvement 


250  OFFENCES    MUST    COME. 

of  society,  it  is  with  little  care  for  any  modification 
of  the  external  conditions  under  which  men  dwell, 
but  with  a  direct  interest  in,  and  effort  in  behalf  of, 
the  moral  and  spiritual  forces  of  the  creature ;  there- 
fore they  are  far  less  solicitous  to  remove  poverty,  or 
exposure  of  facilities  to  intemperance,  from  the  midst 
of  a  community,  than  they  are  to  distribute  tracts 
and  bibles,  and  bring  the  sinner  within  the  sound  of 
the  Gospel.  All  things,  say  they,  are  possible  with 
God.  His  spirit  entering  into  the  heart  can  alone 
regenerate  it,  and  avert  its  own  sins  and  the  public 
evils.  They  have  no  faith  that  this  divine  Helper 
can  find  a  surer  entrance  into  the  heart  through  com- 
fortable clothing,  and  across  a  well-spread  table,  and 
beneath  a  tight  roof,  than  through  rags,  and  starva- 
tion, and  exposure.  If  they  would  make  a  law  for 
the  benefit  of  the  community,  it  would  be  one  not  to 
remove  or  diminish  temptations  to  sin,  but  to  in- 
crease the  penalty  for  offence.  You  would  never 
find  these  voting  to  substitute  imprisonment  for  life 
for  the  death  penalty,  but  voting  to  hang  a  man 
tivice  over,  if  convicted ;  and  their  theory  pushes  its 
effects  into  the  next  world.  The  sinner,  with  his  ter- 
rible guilt,  stands  before  the  judgment-seat ;  his  sen- 
tence is  unmitigable,  for  his  iniquities  have  been 
intolerable  ;  freely,  with  no  constraint,  clearly  seeing 
the  right,  with  the  sanctions  of  eternity  before  him, 
with  God's  everlasting  law  upon  his  conscience,  he 
transgressed.  He  fell  in  the  midst  of  his  Eden, 
therefore  let  the  flaming  sword  keep  him  from  the 
tree  of  life  ;  therefore  let  him  find  his  eternal  doom. 
Need  I  say  that  both  classes  of  moral  interpreters 


OFFENCES    MUST    COME.  251 

of  whom  I  have  spoken,  rallying  each  around  a 
single  clause  of  the  text,  take  very  incomplete  and 
unjust  views  of  human  condition  and  of  human 
responsibility,  —  that  there  can  be  no  equity  of  judg- 
ment which  does  not  embrace  both  sides  of  the  sub- 
ject we  are  considering ;  which  does  not  blend  the 
teachings  of  both  clauses  of  the  text.  Conjoned, 
they  announce  the  mystery  of  life.  They  intimate 
the  compulsions  under  which  man  acts,  and  they  de- 
clare also  the  freedom  with  which  he  acts.  They 
assert  the  simple  doctrine  of  his  relative  and  limited 
responsibleness.  They  weigh  in  a  just  balance  what 
he  can  not  help  with  what  he  can  help.  They  show 
the  grounds  on  which  the  justice  of  God  holds  his 
steward  to  the  giving  of  an  account,  and  affirm  the 
the  inflexible  impartiality  and  righteousness  of  his 
tribunal. 

"  It  must  be  that  offences  come."  We  are  per- 
haps not  aware  of  the  certainty  of  stated  percent- 
ages of  crime,  under  certain  fixed  outward  conditions. 
You  are  aware  that  tables  of  longevity ,  have  been 
calculated,  from  long  and  accurate  observation,  by 
which  it  is  ascertained  with  great  exactness  how 
many  persons  out  of  a  thousand  or  a  hundred  die 
within  a  year.  Statistics  of  almost  equal  exact- 
ness, on  data  furnished  in  Flanders  or  Belgium, 
are  able  to  predict  the  amount  of  public  transgres- 
sion in  the  year.  Understand  thoroughly  the  out- 
ward conditions  of  a  given  community  ;  everything 
that  pertains  to  its  civil  institutions ;  its  religious 
facilities ;  its  domestic  culture ;  the  amount  and 
quality  of  the   education  of  its  youth  ;  its  amuse- 


252  OFFENCES    MUST    COME. 

ments;  the  numerical  proportion  between  its  male 
and  female  members ;  their  trades  and  callings ; 
the  natm'e  of  the  soil ;  the  climate,  and  so  forth. 
Know  all  these  conditions  accurately,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  the  amount  of  visible,  which  would  indi- 
cate the  amount  of  invisible,  wickedness,  in  such  a 
community,  might  be  computed  beforehand,  and 
that  a  company  might,  with  as  large  a  chance  of 
profit,  insure  a  given  amount  of  righteousness,  as 
other  companies  insure  life  or  property. 

Strange  this !  yet  no  stranger  than  the  rest  of  the 
wonders  of  creation  and  Providence.  How  clearly 
does  such  a  fact  interlock  with  the  ordinations  of 
God.  How  manifestly  does  the  law  which  this  fact 
declares  take  its  place  among  other  laws  of  the 
universe,  all  of  them  showing  an  overruling  purpose, 
a  sovereign  will,  excluding  chance,  and  demonstrat- 
ing the  impossibility  of  human  volitions  contravening 
divine  ends;  proving  how  out  of  evil  God  educes 
good  ;  that  there  is  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
that  the  wrath  of  man  even  shall  praise  the  Lord. 

"  Offences  must  come."  Some  of  the  elements 
that  enter  into  such  a  necessity  of  offence,  and  to  a 
definite  extent  limit  responsibility,  are  easily  specified. 
First,  country,  climate,  soil,  are  beyond  the  elec- 
tion of  the  individual.  Geographical  conditions 
shape  the  outer  and  the  inner  m.an.  The  same  race 
of  men  divided;  one  portion  planted  upon  the  fat 
soil  and  amid  the  hot  and  humid  airs  of  the  South- 
Asian  peninsulas  or  the  Northern  Brazils ;  another 
portion  planted  on  the  granite  ledges  of  New  Eng- 
land; a  third  upon  the  steppes  of  Siberia,  could 
hardly  retain  an  identity  in  moral  characteristics. 


OFFENCES    MUST    COME.  253 

Again,  government  and  civil  institutions  are  be- 
yond individual  election.  The  same  race  would 
enevitably  develop  into  dissimilar  qualities  under 
despotic  and  under  republican  laws.  Thirdly,  the 
manifold  disciplinary  influences  that  surround  the 
youth  will,  in  the  long  run,  more  or  less  definitely 
block  out  his  character,  and  that,  to  some  extent, 
despite  himself.  The  pressure  of  society,  the  quality 
of  companionships,  the  supply  or  want  of  adequate 
school  instruction,  parental  example  and  training,  — 
all  these  constitute  a  sort  of  necessity  under  which 
the  youth  loses  his  responsibility  in  a  certain  meas- 
ure, and  beneath  which  his  will  must  bow.  Then, 
again,  there  are  hereditary  tendencies,  stronger  or 
weaker  ;  there  are  constitutional  limitations  and  pro- 
clivities, which  make  certain  paths  impossible  and 
certain  proportions  of  character  unattainable. 

Now,  the  extent  to  which  these  external  shapings 
and  enforcements  bear  upon  the  individual  should  be 
fully  understood  and  admitted.  It  is  futile  to  say 
that  the  will  has  power  over  them  ;  they  are  pre- 
cisely the  barriers  which  Providence  has  purposely 
erected  around  the  will.  They  possess  a  sort  of  ma- 
terial inflexibleness;  and  where  they  all  operate 
adversely  to  the  well-being,  to  the  harmonious  de- 
velopment, to  the  free  direction  of  the  highest  facul- 
ties of  our  nature,  there  exists  in  the  individual  a 
moral  impossibility  to  become  what,  under  different 
circumstances,  he  might  become. 

But,  is  the  individual  thus  circumscribed  delivered 
from  moral  responsibility  ?  Not  so  long  as  he  stands 
this  side  of  moral  idiocy  or  insanity.     Is  he  a  ma- 

22 


254  OFFENCES    MUST    COME. 

chine,  moving  only  as  he  is  moved  ?  Not  so  long 
as  he  possesses  the  power  of  deliberation ;  not  so 
long  as  he  can  waver  between  two  decisions ;  not 
so  long  as  he  can  see  the  parting  of  the  ways,  and 
know  that  one  is  right  and  the  other  wrong,  one 
is  wise  and  the  other  foolish;  not  so  long  as  the 
consciousness  dwells  within  him  (to  which  a  desire 
for  forgiveness  or  a  sense  of  blame  or  a  dread  of 
punishment  can  attach)  that  he  is  free  to  determine 
upon  one  or  another  act,  to  contend  for  one  or 
another  result.  A  man  is  free  according  to  the 
make  of  his  being  and  within  his  appointed  range 
and  upon  his  appointed  level ;  and  within  that  range 
and  upon  that  level  there  is  no  man  who  has  not  free- 
dom enough  to  crowd  his  life  with  responsibilities.  If 
he  have  the  one  talent,  he  is  accountable  for  the  one, 
and  for  no  more.  If  he  have  the  ten,  he  is  account- 
able for  the  ten,  and  no  less.  There  is  a  definite 
amount  of  moral  gain,  of  spiritual  discipline,  to  be 
acquired  under  whatever  stewardship  of  the  soul. 

"  It  must  needs  be  that  offences  come  ;  but  woe  to 
that  man  by  whom  the  offence  cometh." 

In  looking  upon  this  first  clause,  in  a  practical 
light,  and  in  connection  with  the  after  clause,  we  are 
not  to  regard  it  as  declaring  a  naked  necessity  or 
constraint  to  an  evil  course.  It  speaks  of  a  necessity, 
inferred  from  the  fact,  that,  what  daily  is  and  has 
been  since  the  world  began,  will  continue  to  be. 
The  affirmation,  that  "  offences  must  come,"  is  a 
proposition  founded  upon  experience.  It  is  simply 
the  title  of  what  has  been  noted  as  a  constantly  re- 
curring chapter  in  the  world's  history.     It  is  a  proph- 


OFFENCES    MUST    COME. 


255 


ecy  of  what  it  is  believed  xvill  be,  not  an  omnipotent 
decree  as  to  what  shall  be.  All  that  I  have  said 
concerning  the  constraints  that  hedge  around  the 
will,  annihilating  its  freedom,  is  to  be  forgotten  in  es- 
timating the  real  elements  of  human  offence.  So 
far  as  the  word  "  woe  "  may  mean  sorrow  and  suffer- 
ing and  confusion  and  defeat,  it  would  pertain  even 
to  involuntary  offences,  —  offences  of  ignorance  or 
of  necessity.  Bat  so  far  as  it  may  be  construed  to 
mean  the  deeper  misery  of  the  soul,  engendered  by 
voluntary  sin,  it  of  course  pertains  alone  to  that 
large  circle  of  actions  which  lie  within  the  range  of 
human  volition. 

If  I  were  finally  to  ask  myself  what  are  the  prac- 
tical directions  in  which  the  whole  text  should  lead 
me,  I  would  answer,  first,  it  should  lead  me  so  to 
exert  every  influence  which  I  possess,  and  so  always 
to  act^  as  to  diminish  the  temptations  and  constraints 
under  which  my  fellow-men  are  urged  into  evil.  If 
"  offences  must  come,''  I  know  where  to  look  for  the 
causes  of  such  a  necessity ;  and  I  know  that  those 
causes  can  be  greatly  modified.  I  have  a  power  to 
utter  decided  convictions  ;  to  seek  to  persuade  my 
fellow-men  ;  to  vote  for  local  regulations  or  for  pub- 
lic statutes.  I  am  one  of  a  community ;  and  that 
community,  if  it  would  consent  in  action,  could  so 
modify  its  own  external  conditions  as  to  reduce  im- 
measurably the  offences  that  must  take  place  within 
it.  I  am  thus  accountable  to  my  fellow-men  for  the 
use  of  this  ability  to  do  them  good  by  action  or 
harm  by  inaction.  And  I  am  responsible  to  God  for 
my  exercise  of  a  stewardship  which  he  has  made  in- 


256  OFFENCES    MUST    COME. 

strumental  in  establishing  my  relations  to  himself. 
I  will  therefore  not  be  behindhand  in  the  path  of 
reform.  I  will  seek  to  avoid  precipitancy,  fanciful 
and  impracticable  measm-es,  violent  and  radical  dem- 
onstrations. I  will  aim  to  take  counsel  from  ex- 
perience and  sobriety ;  but  I  will  spare  no  effort  to 
diminish  the  necessities  that  call  offences  into  being, 
and  that  fill  the  world  with  a  woe  that  has  more  of 
wretchedness  than  of  guilt. 

The  second  direction  in  which  the  text  instructs 
me  is,  to  look  well  to  myself;  to  look  after  my  own 
conscience,  and  to  discern  my  tremendous  responsi- 
bilities. The  woe  visited  upon  the  offender  by  the 
Saviour  is  the  doom  upon  avoidable  sin.  It  is  the 
spiritual  penalties  upon  the  soul  that  doeth  evil.  It 
is  the  anger  of  God  against  the  conscious  transgres- 
sor of  his  laws. 

Here,  then,  within  my  circle  of  free  action,  stand- 
ing master  over  my  field,  self-poised  amid  the  cir- 
cumstances that  surround  me,  I  may  elect  my  pos- 
sessions and  my  path.  I  may  shut  those  induce- 
ments out,  and  I  may  bring  these  into  nearer  view. 
I  may  look  upon  that  low  range  for  my  prom- 
ises, or  draw  them  from  on  high.  I  may  stand  still, 
or  go  backward,  or  go  forward,  in  either  evil  or  good. 
I  may  resist  the  Devil,  so  that  he  shall  flee  from 
me,  or  I  may  garnish  the  inner  chambers  for  the 
dwelling  of  his  worst  spirits.  If,  therefore,  I  choose 
the  evil,  I  am  to  stand  at  the  bar  of  God  and  answer 
why  ;  and  no  sin  which  I  commit  will  be  without  its 
woe,  here  or  hereafter. 

Brethren,  I  have  spoken  as  for  myself.     I  have 


OFFENCES    MUST    COME.  257 

spread  before  you  my  sense  of  the  extent  of  my  own 
responsibility  in  the  sight  of  God.  What  I  have 
detailed  for  myself,  I  am  justified  in  applying  to  each 
of  you.  Our  common  duty  now  is,  —  a  duty  urged 
by  earth  and  heaven,  by  every  hope  and  every  fear,  by 
all  things  present  and  all  things  that  are  to  come, — 
to  be  more  faithful  to  our  responsibilities,  and  more 
fitly  to  offer  our  free  service  unto  God. 


22 


SEIIMON    XVII. 

FAllEWELL  SERMON  TO  THE  IIARTEORD  SOCIETY. 

NOT   FOR   THAT   AVE   UAVE   DOMINION    OVER  YOUR  FAITH,   BUT   ARE 
HELPERS    OF    TOUR    JOY:    FOR    BY    FAITH    YE     STAND.  —  2  Coiin- 

tbians  i.  24. 

There  are  some  crises  in  which  one  would  be 
glad  to  live  a  lifetime,  to  unite  all  that  he  can  bestow 
of  effort  with  all  that  he  has  gathered  of  experience, 
and  cast  them  with  unwonted  force  into  the  pressing 
instant. 

Not  that  there  is  a  special  urgency  upon  me,  the 
speaker,  or  upon  you,  the  listeners,  at  this  time.  I 
mean  in  regard  to  the  themes  ordinarily  the  subjects 
of  meditation  in  the  pulpit.  I  am  under  no  superior 
obligation  to-day  to  announce  with  earnestness  the 
demands  and  sanctions  of  the  Gospel ;  nor  are  you, 
in  this  hour,  under  any  peculiarly  stringent  necessity 
of  an  application  of  those  demands  and  sanctions  to 
yourselves.  We  are  never  out  of  such  necessity. 
The  current  of  our  sinful  tendencies  needs  to  be 
broken  every  day,  every  hour,  against  the  blessed 
impediments  which  a  gracious  Creator  casts  athwart 
the  stream. 

Yet  still,  if  I  might,  I  would  crowd  into  the  occa- 


FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE  HARTFORD  SOCIETY.      259 

sion  now  vouchsafed  whatever  of  conviction,  of  de- 
sire, of  interest,  of  hope,  may  have  wisely  stirred  my 
heart  since  I  first  accepted  the  office  of  your  Chris- 
tian counsellor.  I  would  pray,  that  whatever  beams 
of  light  God  has  permitted  to  struggle  through  the 
mists  of  frailty  that  have  shrouded  this  place  of 
speech  might  converge  into  a  focus,  not  without 
some  glow.  Do  not  mistake  my  desire.  I  do  not 
mean  the  dazzle  of  rhetoric,  but  the  fervor  of  simple 
and  direct  earnestness. 

For,  my  brethren,  —  for  what  purpose  have  we  held 
each  other's  hands  so  long  ?  Why  have  we  come 
hither,  —  I  to  my  place  here,  you  to  your  places 
there  ?  Not  for  the  interest  of  curiosity,  —  not  for 
the  perishable  stimulus  of  the  intellect,  —  not  in  the 
spirit  and  hopes  of  a  worldly  confederation,  —  not 
with  aims  toward  no  higher  than  outward  strength 
and  show  ;  —  but  this  sanctuary  has  won  our  feet  as 
to  the  courts  of  preparation  for  the  immortal  service. 
Here  the  heart  has,  by  just  theory,  had  but  one 
question  to  ask,  and  has  sought,  as  from  the  very 
Author  of  faith,  the  sufficient  answer.  The  question 
has  been,  "  "What  shall  I  do  to  be  saved  "  ;  the  an- 
swer, if  true  to  the  New  Testament,  has  been,  "  Be- 
lieve in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

Faith,  —  some  sort  of  faith,  better  than  common, 
than  of  every  day,  —  has  brought  us  here.  Faith  in  the 
forms  of  virtue  and  of  sanctity,  —  faith  in  some  dis- 
tinct endeavors  after  religious  ends,  —  faith  in  needs 
and  usages  not  wholly  secular, —  faith,  that  there  is 
a  better  way  of  peace  and  happiness  than  we  dis- 
cover for  ourselves,  or  our  friends  for  us,  —  faith  in 


260      FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE  HARTFORD  SOCIETY. 

futurity,  —  vague,  shifting,  inoperative  in  the  main, 
but  better  than  a  dead  faithlessness  to  everything 
that  is  not  within  measure  of  the  foot-pace  or  the 
hand-span.  Faith,  that  sin  is  the  darkness  over 
heaven,  —  that  it  is  the  curse  of  the  soul,  —  that 
God  has  offered  us  help  to  be  delivered  from  it,  — 
that  Jesus  is  that  sent  help, — that  here  the  hands 
may  reach  higher  for  it  than  elsewhere,  —  and  here 
the  soul  cry  louder  for  it  than  elsewhere.  Some  sort 
of  a  faith  of  this  quality,  and  looking  in  these  di- 
rections, has  brought  us  hither  from  time  to  time. 
And  this  faith,  in  its  lowest  forms,  is  better  than  no 
faith  ;  for  it  is  the  mark  of  the  man  over  the  brute, — 
it  has  in  it  the  mysterious  ring  of  immortality,  and 
therefore,  if  this  were  the  last  word  that  I  should 
utter  to  you,  it  would  be  (if  I  could  make  it  such)  a 
word  that  should  seize  these  threads  of  faith,  —  some 
floating  gossamer-like  in  upper  air,  —  some  stretch- 
ing out  heavily  on  the  level,  and  some  draggling  in 
the  dust,  —  and  bear  them  all,  within  the  dove-beak 
of  love,  to  the  hand  of  Him  who,  by  them,  should 
draw  their  possessors  to  himself. 

"  By  faith  ye  stand.^^  Ye,  the  whole  being,  stand  ; 
just  as  mind  stands  by  intelligence,  just  as  body 
stands  by  temperance  and  health,  just  as  conscience 
stands  by  integrity.  A  man  without  faith  is  as  an 
idiot  in  the  department  of  the  understanding,  or  as  a 
paralytic  in  the  department  of  muscles.  A  soul! 
what  is  this  without  faith  ?  "What  is  a  sun  without 
radiance  ?  What  is  music  without  sound  ?  What 
is  any  substance  without  its  chief  property  ?  or  any 
organ  without  its  specific |f unction  ?     Think  of  this, 


FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE  HARTFORD  SOCIETY.     261 

my  hearers,  a  soul  ivithout  faith  !  an 'entity  sprung 
from  God,  yet  knowing  only  the  name  God,  through 
the  same  perceptions  that  buy  a  loaf,  or  build  a 
iiouse,  or  count  coin  ! 

Some  one  has  a  beautiful  allusion  to  the  shell, 
which,  in  the  heart  of  the  desert  keeps  up  its  tiny  roar, 
as  if  it  had  an  undying  yearning  for  the  surges  from 
which  it  borrowed  its  diapason.  Hold  the  ear  down 
to  the  soul  without  faith,  and  do  you  imagine  you 
would  hear  from  its  depths  the  faintest  resonance, 
as  from  some  divine  birthplace  ?  a  murmuring,  as  of 
an  inextinguishable  desire  after  that  other  endless 
home  ?     Alas,  no  ! 

"  By  faith  ye  standi  This  is  a  strong  word,  stand. 
Intellect  can  do  much.  Practical  sense  can  take 
many  buffets.  Indifference  can  seem  to  make  light 
of  many  hard  pressures.  There  is  a  shrewd  way  of 
fighting  off  troubles,  or  a  dogged  way  of  bearing 
them ;  but  after  all,  faith  is  the  only  power  that 
can  ^^ stand''  under  burdens,  or  be  firm  before  the 
floods. 

Note  who  reels,  who  totters,  who  stumbles,  who 
falls,  in  the  world.  It  is  not  he  who  abounds  in 
faith.  Fortune  may  fail,  snares  entrap,  foolishness 
counsel ;  but  disaster  or  entanglement  or  unwisdom 
is  not  prostration.  He  who  has  faith,  touches  bottom, 
and  is  erect,  come  what  may.  Show  me  the  person 
witliout  faith  (and  by  faith  I  mean  belief  in  God  and 
spiritual  verities,  —  in  the  sanctions  and  compensa- 
tions of  truth,  —  in  the  disclosures  and  life  of  Jesus 
Christ,  as  the  outshowing  of  the  Deity),  —  show  me 
one  without  faith  in  these  things  standings  when  sor- 


262      FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE  HARTFORD  SOCIETY. 

row  bursts  itS  waterspouts  over  the  head,  —  when 
disasters  roll  on,  a  full  tide,  — when  any  of  the  deep, 
serious  ills  of  life  encircle  and  submerge  the  soul. 

To  a  faith  like  this,  my  hearers,  I  have  tried  to 
lead  you  ;  yet  not,  in  the  Apostle's  words,  as  "  by  do- 
minion." Any  so-styled  faith,  that  is  not  voluntary, 
is  misnamed.  Anything  acceded  to  because  pre- 
scribed, is  not  faith.  You  can  no  more  produce  faith 
from  dictation,  than  you  can  force  the  twig  to  spring 
from  the  trunk,  or  the  bud  from  the  twig,  with  a 
punch  and  mallet. 

You  bring  here  a  certain  mystery  of  life,  having 
its  sovereign  force  and  its  inflexible  processes.  It 
can  only  assimilate,  and  this  only  by  its  native  pre- 
dilection, not  by  exterior  stringency.  I  have  felt  this, 
and  my  purpose  has  been  to  win  you,  if  possible,  to 
faith,  your  understandings  by  arguments,  your  hearts 
by  persuasion. 

So,  I  have  aimed  to  be  a  "  helper  of  your  joy,"  — 
for  a  true  cordial  faith  is  the  most  joyous  of  all  pos- 
sessions ;  as  precious  and  satisfying  as  a  forced,  un- 
sound faith  is  vexatious  and  torturing.  Is  not  a 
sense  of  the  security  of  which  I  have  spoken  in  itself 
above  all  price  ?  Is  it  not  blessedness  to  say,  "  I 
know  in  whom  I  have  believed,"  and  to  feel  that 
we  also  "are  known  of  Him  in  whom  we  have 
believed." 

You  do  not,  I  trust,  forget  what  this  pulpit  has 
taught  for  faith,  both  with  regard  to  doctrines  (so 
called)  and  to  the  principles  of  practical  Christianity  ; 
yet  it  will  not  be  unwise  at  this  time  to  pass  under 
rapid  and  condensed  review  some  of  the  instructions 
in  each  direction. 


FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE   HARTFORD  SOCIETY.      263 

You  have  been  taught,  then,  first,  to  look  to  God, 
as  the  inexhaustible  fountain  of  grace,  —  as  the  holy, 
just,  yet  loving  One.  And  you  have  been  urged  to 
recognize  Him,  in  the  spirit  of  the  pronoun  Him^  —  the 
Intelligence,  —  the  Will,  —  the  Sovereign  Agent,  — 
the  Infinite  Person,  —  the  Reader  of  thoughts,  —  the 
Hearer  of  prayers,  — the  Bestower  of  bounties,  —  the 
Father.  Not  it,  —  the  great  abstraction,  —  the  vague 
embodiment,  —  the  vast,  mysterious  impersonality. 
You  have  been  warned  against  this  reef,  along 
the  shallows  of  a  profane  philosophy,  on  which 
every  wreck  has  shown  its  name  upon  the  stern, 
"  Atheism.''^ 

Next,  yet  rather  parallel  with  the  first  truth,  you 
have  been  pointed  to  Christ  as  revealing  the  Father, 
as  furnishing  evidence  that  a  force,  that  could  for  a 
specific  end  display  itself  in  attributes  analogous  to 
those  which  pertain  to  man,  must  itself  be  a  force 
analogous  also  to  the  human  will.  You  have  been 
taught  the  Divinity  of  Christ,  —  strictly  his  Divinity  ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  phase  of  God  in  him,  —  the  out- 
showing  of  a  certain  mystery,  whereby  a  being  in  the 
form  of  man  holds  out  powers  and  qualities  that 
measure,  to  the  uttermost  stretch  of  our  faculties,  the 
Heavenly  Parent. 

You  can  afford  to  bear  the  slur  of  receiving  Christ 
as  "  a  mere  man,"  though  candid  opponents  cannot 
afford  to  make  such  imputations.  Not  that  I  think 
any  person  who  does,  through  candid  inquiry,  and  in 
a  meek  spirit,  believe  Jesus  to  have  been  a  mere 
man,  is  a  fit  subject  for  a  slur  from  other  religionists  ; 
but  you,  I  trust,  are  far  enough  from  that  line  of  be- 


264     FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE  HARTFORD  SOCIETY. 

lief  to  look  with  considerable  indifference  upon  char- 
ges which  violently  insist,  that  you  do  come  squarely 
up  to  the  full  heretical  mark.  For  my  own  part,  I 
am  content  to  enjoy  my  own  thoughts,  when  I  hear 
of  some  commentator  on  Unitarianism  affirming  that 
it  is  essential  to  this  form  of  doctrine,  that  it  deny  the 
Divinity  of  Christ. 

I  have  set  this  Being  before  you  as  the  living 
centre  of  light  for  your  opinions  on  all  matters  of 
ethical  and  spiritual  import,  —  as  the  object  around 
whom  all  our  anxieties,  our  hopes,  our  affections 
cluster,  —  as  the  Revealer  of  our  destiny  here  and 
for  ever, —  as  the  only  middle  instrumentality  between 
the  plains  of  earth,  and  the  heights  of  heaven ;  — 
in  a  word,  as  the  witness  to,  and  the  virtual  presence 
of.  Him  who  is  on  high. 

This  is  an  age  of  reckless  speculation  as  well  as 
of  bold  inquiry.  I  might  almost  say,  it  is  an  age  of 
assumptions  of  the  Christ.  New  revelations  are  pre- 
tended, the  heavens  are  affirmed  to  open,  an  almost 
visible  contact  of  the  supernal  and  the  terrestrial 
spheres  is  declared.  I  will  not  seek  to  give  too  great 
weight  to  the  testimony  of  ill-defined  phenomena ; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  I  would  not  entirely  ignore 
them ;  yet  this  I  have  urged  upon  you,  and  still 
urge,  —  that  Christ  is  the  only  messenger  who  has 
come  to  us  from  the  bosom  of  the  Father,  —  the 
specially,  supernaturally  accredited  Revealer  of  the 
Eternal  Power  and  Godhead,  —  the  Infinite  Love 
and  Mercy,  Whatever  other  truth  is  taught  will 
marshal  itself  into  its  fit  place  under  the  leadings 
of  Gospel  principles.     Whatever  propositions  incon- 


FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE  HARTFORD  SOCIETY.      265 

sistent  with  the  Gospel  are  urged,  must  be  main- 
tained only  by  the  demolition  of  the  structure  which 
eighteen  centuries  have  reared  on  the  foundation  of 
historic  evidence,  of  internal  fitness,  of  a  contented 
and  blessed  experience,  of  a  widening  dominion,  of 
a  record  of  vast  and  multifold  beneficence.  Amid 
these  meteors  that  glare  along  the  horizon,  —  flash- 
ing out  their  deceptions  almost  too  transiently  to 
awaken  any  other  sentiment  than  passing  wonder, — 
I  turn  to  the  steadfast  Star,  —  the  culminating,  the 
serene  "  lig-ht  of  the  world."  I  see  the  Lord  from 
heaven ;  from  his  lips  issuing  all  the  words  of  life  ; 
his  hand  holding  the  everlasting  scroll ;  his  eye  beam- 
ing a  love  that  swallows  up  all  the  philanthropies  of 
the  world ;  and  I  indicate  him  to  you  as  the  fixed 
point  of  support  for  your  souls.  Can  you  reach  a 
crisis  in  life  through  which  he  cannot  guide  you  ? 
Can  you  dutifully  assume  a  burden  which  he  can- 
not fully  help  you  to  bear  ?  Can  you  go  down  the 
steep  acclivities  needing  any  other  companion,  or 
across  the  dark  valley  needing  any  other  guide, 
or  before  the  questionings  of  the  Judgment  Seat, 
and  need  a  more  merciful  or  a  juster  Judge?  Do 
not  say  so  until  you  have  made  experiment  of  the 
power  of  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

I  have  made  prominent  to  your  minds  the  doctrine 
of  an  ever-present,  helping  Spirit.  In  view  of  our 
perishing  resolutions,  of  our  sinking  frailties,  of  our 
inclinations  to  sin,  I  have  held  up  the  Divine  Power 
as  the  only  supplement.  This  teaching  alone  puts 
the  heart  of  life  into  prayer ;  believing  it,  you  are 
never  deserted    in  the  world.      Without  this  belief, 

23 


266      FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE   HARTFORD  SOCIETY. 

whatever  we  may  seek,  we  are  sadly  near  the  bor- 
ders of  a  theoretical  Atheism. 

I  have  thus  far  specified  three  points  on  which  this 
pulpit  has  sought  to  be  explicit  and  urgent,  —  points 
embraced  in  the  Baptismal  formvila,  —  "  in  the  name 
of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit." 

The  dread  doctrine  of  retribution  for  sin  has  also 
found  utterance   here.     It   is   the   simple   doctrine, 
founded  on  the  law  of  growth  and  progress ;  on  the 
law  of  continuity  of  being ;  on  the  law  of  personal 
identity;  on  the   law  of  connection  between  past, 
present,  and  future ;  on  the  law  of  experience,  and 
of  consciousness.     A  doctrine  not  created  by  Jesus 
of  Nazareth,  but  more  distinctly  set  forth  and  illus- 
trated by  him ;  a  doctrine  which  even  brutes  recog- 
nize on  the   ground-level  of  their  faculties ;   which 
the  vegetable  world  obeys ;  which  no  organism  can 
evade.     But  oh  I  the  harvest  of  sin,  in  the  moral  and 
spiritual  creature !     My  hearers,  I  have  spoken  too 
coldly  on  this  point !     God  forgive  me,  if  I  have 
painted   in   neutral   tints    what    should    have    been 
flashed  out  in  hues  of  fire!  but  if  my  past  words 
have  been  weak,  let  my  present  convictions  atone  ; 
and  let  me  utter  warnings  that  will  not  perish  with 
the  breath  that  vents  them  ;  warnings  that  enfold  the 
truth,  that  "  the  wages  of  sin  is  death,"  and  that  man 
must  render  an  account  of  his  stewardship ;  that  he 
who  believeth  not  in  the   Son,  the  wrath   of   God 
abideth  on  him ;  that  it  is  better  to  enter  all  maimed 
hy  self-denial  into  life,  than  to  carry  the  indulged 
soul,  whole,  into  the  hell  of  a  just  retribution. 

For  our  exposures  under  this  terrible  law  ;  for  our 


FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE  HARTFORD  SOCIETY.      267 

woes  in  view  of  an  aroused  consciousness  of  sin, 
Jesus  is  the  Deliverer,  the  Atoner,  the  Reconciler. 

I  do  not  present  this  epitome  of  past  counsels  from 
this  pulpit,  because  I  suppose  that  here,  alone,  you 
are  fed  with  fitting  spiritual  food  ;  that  the  doctrines 
which  have  been  specified  are,  in  any  eminent  sense, 
inculcated  here.  It  is  my  privilege  to  believe  that 
there  is  not  a  pulpit  in  this  city,  no  one  in  the  land, 
occupied  by  a  true,  practical  disciple,  in  which  sav- 
ing doctrines  are  not  preached.  So  that  I  cannot 
utter  the  opinion,  that  this  church,  or  any  single 
church  among  others,  is  positively  essential  as  a  dis- 
penser of  absolute  Christian  truths.  All  denomina- 
tions dispense  such  truths.  Salvation  is  a  power  hid 
in  any  utterance  that  has  been  drawn  from  the  depths 
of  the  New  Testament,  out  of  a  heart  of  genuine 
experience.  I  hold  myself  to  stand  on  the  same 
platform  of  substance  with  my  brethren  of  all  sec- 
tions of  the  Christian  Church.  Would  to  God  that 
they  could  with  all  sincerity  so  esteem  of  me  I 

But,  having  said  this,  I  shall  utter  but  half  my 
conviction,  if  I  leave  you  to  suppose  that  I  am  indif- 
ferent to  the  peculiar  views,  for  the  dissemination  of 
which  this  edifice  was  reared ;  or  to  certain  specific 
inculcations,  probably  never  heard  in  any  other  pul- 
pit around  us,  or,  if  in  any,  in  very,  veri/  few. 

I  refer  to  the  Protestant  doctrine  of  Liberty ;  to 
the  Apostolic  doctrine  of  "let  every  one  be  fully  per- 
suaded in  his  own  mind  "  and  be  "  able  to  give  a 
a  reason  for  the  hope  that  is  in  him."  For  this,  I 
rejoice  to  have  stood  here  for  a  season,  and  I  rejoice 
at  the  thought  that,  for  many  years  to  come,  the 


268      FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE  HARTFORD  SOCIETY. 

right  of  private  judgment  will  be  vindicated  from  this 
spot. 

How  beautiful  is  nature  around  us  !  How  cath- 
olic are  her  bounties  I  those  rounded  hills ;  that 
flowing  stream ;  these  waving  trees ;  this  sun  by 
day ;  the  stars  by  night,  —  these  are  not  fenced  in 
from  common  participation.  And  the  beauties  of 
architectural  forms ;  the  roll  of  diapasons ;  the  con- 
cords of  the  wide-mouthed  bell,  —  these,  the  embodi- 
ments of  subtle  laws  of  material  nature,  make  their 
universal  appeal,  and  receive  a  universal  response. 
And  then,  this  Book;  this  unlimited  comforter;  this 
friend  of  every  heart ;  this  teacher  of  every  family ; 
bound  in  covers,  but  unbound  in  its  spirit ;  how  like 
the  blue  vault  is  it,  in  its  magic  amplitude,  enfolding 
the  entire  world ! 

And  now  shall  a  petty  man  thrust  himself  up 
amid  these  universal  appeals,  and  utter  his  little 
egotism  ?  Or  shall  a  body  or  band  of  frailties  just 
like  himself,  make  him  the  mouthpiece  of  the  cor- 
porate dogmatism  ?  "  The  companionship  of  these 
my  soul  hateth  ;  Lord,  let  me  not  come  into  their 
counsels." 

Yes,  I  claim  for  this  pulpit,  that  it  has  not  been 
draped  in  illiberalities.  Whatever  infirmity  of  tem- 
per or  heat  of  occasional  discussion  may  have  let 
unfortunately  slip,  at  which  a  just  sensitiveness  may 
have  taken  offence,  this  will  be  pardoned  to  its 
source;  but  the  theory,  and  the  deliberation  of  this 
pulpit  have  been  toward  spiritual  emancipation ; 
toward  entire  liberty  of  conscience.  And  this  com- 
munity yet  needs  this  vindication  of  private  rights. 


FAREAVELL  SERMON  TO  THE  HARTFORD  SOCIETY.      269 

It  is  in  a  corner ;  public  opinion  drives  it  into  nar- 
row quarters ;  but  all  the  greater  necessity  that  it 
should  live,  and  toil,  and  endure. 

My  friends,  who  have  so  long  listened  to  counsels 
here,  if  by  any  chance  it  should  be  your  lot,  in  this 
or  any  other  place,  to  mingle  in  services  around 
creed-imprinted  altars,  I  cannot  refrain  from  saying, 
Do  this  in  meekness  of  heart  for  all  the  good  that  may 
be  administered,  but  do  it  not  with  any  other  than 
firm-set  minds  against  the  zm-charities  of  a  narrow 
theology.  If  it  did  not  savor  of  the  very  assump- 
tions of  priesthood,  of  the  very  spirit  of  domination 
against  which  I  contend,  I  would  say,  cleave  to  your 
own  altar,  cost  what  it  may.  Throw  in  some  little 
sacrifice  for  the  truth,  as  you  believe  it  to  be  in 
Jesus ;  do  your  part,  not  only  to  convert  yourselves, 
but  to  instruct  the  world. 

I  am  happy  to  believe  that  something  has  been 
done  in  this  direction  since  this  house  was  dedicated. 
Concurring  circumstances  have  introduced  some  little 
alleviation  into  the  theological  odium,  —  the  sectarian 
rancor  of  the  place  and  time.  May  the  good  influ- 
ences begun  be  continued  and  expanded,  until  it 
shall  come  to  be  suspected  that  there  is  truth  at  the 
bottom  of  every  pellucid  well,  whose  feeders  are  the 
rills  of  the  New  Testament ;  that  there  is  room  with- 
in the  circle  of  every  creed  for  charity,  —  toleration, 
—  nay,  neither  of  those  is  the  word,  —  for  Justice,  to 
believers  of  whatever  form  of  doctrine. 

There  arc  encouraging  signs  that  the  days  of 
ecclesiastical  tyranny  arc  passing  away ;  there  is 
lig-lU  on  the  wrinkles  of  the  aged  beldame,  and  she 

23* 


270      FAREWELL  SERMON  TO  THE    HARTFORD  SOCIETY. 

will  retire  from  a  very  sense  of  ugliness  into  the 
holes  of  the  earth.  The  purple  flood  of  the  morning 
is  breaking  over  the  east ;  those  upon  the  mountains, 
looking  afar,  believe  that  they  see  the  day.  Your 
instrumentality  is  indeed  slender  in  the  general  con- 
tribution of  liberal  forces,  but  it  has  its  worth.  Your 
channel,  though  no  wider  than  a  thread,  will  still 
push  its  rapid  way,  with  and  beyond  the  advan- 
cing flood  ;  and  though  the  general  onward  swell  of 
waters  will  render  your  motion  less  marked,  there 
will  be  for  you,  none  the  less,  a  triumph  for  the 
great  end. 

You  have  gained  something  within  six  and  a  half 
years.  It  is  no  inconsiderable  acquisition  for  a  re- 
ligious society  to  have  obtained  unembarrassed  pos- 
session of  all  the  external  aids  to  worship.  Seven 
and  a  half  years  ago,  your  advertisement  in  one  of 
the  public  prints,  for  a  religious  meeting,  was  paro- 
died in  a  subsequent  issue  of  the  same  journal.  It 
is  too  late  in  the  day  for  another  such  small  display 
of  intolerance  as  this. 

I  would  not  drop  for  you  one  word  of  inflated  en- 
couragement ;  but  I  say  to  you,  you  have  no  reason 
to  take  a  glomy  look  at  your  condition.  It  is  not  to 
be  disguised  that  you  need,  as  you  have  needed, 
patience,  fortitude,  and  steadfastness ;  but  it  would 
be  gratuitous  solicitude  to  apprehend  that  with  these, 
and  a  usual  fortune  in  other  things,  you  are  not  to 
succeed.  God  in  his  providence  may  hold  enfolded 
within  the  event  that  vacates  this  pulpit  an  indis- 
putable favor  to  you,  whose  fruits  will  speedily  be 
your  blessing.  May  it  so  prove  ;  do  not  anticipate 
that  it  will  not  so  prove. 


FAUKWELL   SERMON  TO   THE   HARTFORD  SOCIETY.      271 

Yet,  turning  from  the  external  to  the  inward,  it  is 
here  that  real  joy  will  make  discoveries,  if  at  all. 
It  is  a  question  for  financial  interest  to  ask,  whether 
the  pecuniary  concerns  of  a  religious  corporation  are 
flourishing.  It  is  a  question  for  sectarian  sympathy 
to  ask,  whether  the  numbers  within  a  special  society 
are  multiplying.  But  it  is  the  question  of  spiritual 
solicitude  to  put,  — whether  souls  have  been  touched, 
redeemed,  saved,  in  an  administration  of  six  years. 
Not  that  it  would  not  be  a  source  of  consolation  to 
think  that  errors  of  opinion  had  been  rectified ;  that 
prejudices  had  been  dissolved ;  that  morals  had  been 
promoted  ;  that  the  indefinite  well-being  of  the  indi- 
vidual and  of  society  had  been  advanced ;  but  the 
(juestiou  of  questions  is,  Have  souls  been  edified  ? 
that  is,  built  up  in  the  Gospel. 

This  question  I  cannot  answer,  except  in  the  hope 
which  God  permits  me  to  entertain ;  but  I  loill  reply, 
that  unless  something  of  this  has  been  the  result  of 
my  ministrations,  they  have  been  essentially  unblest. 
If,  my  hearers,  not  one  of  you  has  a  testimony  in  my 
behalf,  in  the  presence  of  our  common  Master,  then 
have  I  failed  of  my  stewardship  here.  But  if  your 
consciousness  accord  me  that  testimony,  —  yes,  if  one 
soul  have  found  through  me  nearer  audience  of  God, 
then  blessed  be  his  mercy  I  I  will  not  veil  my  heart 
in  utter  shame;  for  a  soul, —  a  creature  capable  of 
immortal  benedictions,  —  what  reward  higher  than  to 
have  won  the  good  witness  of  such  before  God  I 

I  cannot  part  from  you  as  a  society,  without  ex- 
pressing my  entire  satisfaction  with  your  prompt 
fulfilment  of  the  obligations  which  you  assumed  at 


272      FAREWELL   SERMON  TO  THE   HARTFORD   SOCIETY. 

my  settlement,  and  for  your  unvarying  courtesy  and 
kindness  of  judgment.  In  faith,  you  have  done 
much.     May  your  faith  be  still  equal  to  more! 

Our  ways  henceforth  part.  If  some  doubt  and 
some  anxieties  hover  over  your  prospects,  mine  are 
by  no  means  exempt  from  uncertainties  and  from 
solicitude.  We  each  need  the  guidance  of  a  higher 
power,  and  the  support  of  a  heavenly  arm  ;  but  those 
divergent  ways,  through  whatever  vicissitudes  and 
experiences  they  lead  in  after  days  here,  may  they 
finally  meet  at  the  Celestial  Gate. 

Brethren,  sisters,  friends ;  my  elders  on  whose 
good  counsels  I  have  leaned;  men  of  my  own  years, 
with  whom  I  have  largely  sympathized ;  young  men, 
whose  ways  I  have  watched  with  interest,  and  whose 
welfare  I  have  sought  to  cherish ;  children,  dear  to 
us  all,  our  living  hopes,  our  unceasing  care,  —  Fare- 
well ! 


APPENDIX. 


APPENDIX. 


The  following  additional  notice  we  extract  from 
the  Alta  Californian :  — 

"  At  the  earnest  solicitation  of  the  committee  of  Boston 
clergymen  to  whom  the  Unitarians  of  San  Francisco  had 
assigned  the  selection  of  their  Pastor,  Mr.  Harrington  came 
amongst  us,  some  two  months  since,  and  immediately  en- 
tered upon  the  duties  of  his  sacred  office.  How  well  he 
has  satisfied  the  hopes  and  anticipation  of  all,  how  accepta- 
bly he  has  walked  among  us,  is  sufficiently  evident  from 
the  sorrow  manifested  among  all  classes  and  denominations 
of  our  city.  He  was  emphatically  the  man  for  the  position 
to  which  he  was  called.  He  was  inspired  with  the  spirit  of 
the  age  and  the  country ;  he  felt  deeply  that  this  congress 
of  the  nations  and  races  of  men  must  exert  a  mighty  influ- 
ence in  the  great  scheme  of  universal  enlightenment ;  he 
recognized  to  its  fullest  extent  the  responsibility  of  his  post 
as  a  sentinel  upon  this  watchtower  of  republicanism  and 
Christianity  ;  he  accepted  cheerfully  all  its  labors  and  its 
cares.  A  scholar  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  and  un- 
usually gifted  with  biblical  and  classical  learning,  he  had  a 
yet  more  important  knowledge,  — the  knowledge  of  the  hu- 
man heart,  and  of  the  liiddcn  springs  of  action  which  move 
men  in  actual  every-day  life.  Of  distinguished  talents,  de- 
voted to  his  holy  calling,  and  filled  with  the  spirit  of  his 


276  APPENDIX. 

Master,  he  had,  moreover,  a  warm,  earnest  interest  in  all 
the  great  moral,  educational,  and  benevolent  movements  of 
the  day. 

"  Thus,  while  he  was  versed  in  all  the  learning  of  the 
schools,  he  was  able,  unlike  too  many  of  his  profession,  to 
approach  the  heart  of  every  man  with  the  sympathy  and 
encouragement  which  he  needed  ;  he  understood  how  to 
make  his  discourse  practically  effective  upon  the  life.  He 
was  peculiarly  impressed  with  the  importance  of  individual 
man,  apart  from  all  creeds,  or  association,  and  with  the  ne- 
cessity of  individual  effort  and  piety.  In  the  sacred  desk 
he  was  deeply  impressive  and  forcible,  his  discourses  satis- 
fied the  minds  of  the  most  intellectual,  and  touched  the 
hearts  of  all  hearers. 

"  Such  is  the  pastor,  and  such  the  citizen  whose  loss  we 
are  called  upon  to  mourn.  Cut  off  in  the  very  commence- ' 
ment  of  his  labors,  denied  the  fulfilment  of  his  hopes  and 
anticipations  of  usefulness,  he  has  left  behind  him  a  mem- 
ory which  will  long  be  cherished  in  the  hearts  of  all  who 
know  him.  Calmly  and  peacefully,  in  the  full  possession 
of  his  mental  faculties,  he  met  his  death,  and  beautifully 
illustrated  in  that  last  moment  the  warmth  of  his  earthly 
affection,  and  his  deep  and  devoted  trust  in  the  God  whom 
he  had  served,  —  a  fitting  close  to  his  earthly  teachings,  — 
a  fitting  end  to  such  a  life. 

"  The  sorrow  at  this  affliction  is  peculiarly  heartfelt  and 
universal.  Far  away  from  home,  and  among  comparative 
strangers,  the  wife  and  daughter  of  the  deceased  are  left 
alone  and  in  sorrow.  The  large  religious  society  just  spring- 
ing up  under  his  auspices  is  without  a  head.  The  city  has 
lost  a  citizen  whose  influence  for  good  would  have  been 
wide-spread  and  most  distinctly  marked." 


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